


Psychedelic Inebriation

by Annaelle



Series: Optical Delusion of Consciousness [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: AU, F/M, I have no idea where this came from, I'm so sorry, Implied Non-Con, M/M, Mostly friendship for those two though, Reylo endgame, dub con, implied prostitution, rey is fucking bad ass, some Poe/Rey a the start, the first order is not entirely bad, the resistance is not entirely good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-05-16 11:36:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5827186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annaelle/pseuds/Annaelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Have you ever lost yourself in a kiss? I mean pure psychedelic inebriation. Not just lustful petting but transcendental metamorphosis when you became aware that the greatness of this being was breathing into you. Licking the sides and corners of your mouth, like sealing a thousand fleshy envelopes filled with the essence of your passionate being and then opened by the same mouth and delivered back to you, over and over again—the first kiss of the rest of your life. A kiss that confirms that the universe is aligned, that the world's greatest resource is love, and maybe even that God is a woman. With or without a belief in God, all kisses are metaphors decipherable by allocations of time, circumstance, and understanding”<br/>―Saul Williams</p><p>Rey hadn't thought being a part of the Resistance would mean signing her life away to the whims of male desire. She hadn't thought it would be more of a prison cell than her life on Jakku; so when she is handed the key, she is unsure why she does not immediately run. She is also unsure why she doesn't hate the other side as much as she used to. Maybe things are changing after all.<br/>REYLO endgame/implied Poe/Rey and Rey/Han. Rated E for rape/dub-con and violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter I - The Resistance

# Chapter I  
The Resistance

## “Sometimes, even to live is an act of courage.”  
—Seneca

Being a part of the Galactic Resistance is nothing like Rey had imagined it.

As a little girl, abandoned and alone on Jakku, she'd imagined becoming a pilot and joining the Resistance to fight against the villainous First Order. As the years passed, and her family didn't come for her, joining the Resistance became an escape to her.

And she had.

She'd scavenged and traded and bartered until she could find all the parts she needed to fix up a small X-wing that had recently crashed near her old AT-AT, and then flew the hell out of there.

She'd flown to Takodana, where she'd heard rumours of Resistance sympathisers—once there, it had only taken her a little while to convince them to take her back to the base with them.

And that's where the problems started.

She was told that the only way women contributed to the Resistance was by making sure the men had a way to blow off steam at night. Even Leia Organa, a princess in her own right, and one of the only influential women on the base, was only heard because she had once drawn General Solo's attention, and somehow managed to keep it.

Of course, had she known this was what the Resistance would be like, Rey doesn't think she would have left Jakku to join them. Jakku was an absolute hell, but at least they didn't make her prostitute herself for food and board. They'd taken her ship from her when she arrived, so she couldn't even leave anymore.

She had little choice but to do as they demanded.

The first man she had to bed—the first man she ever bedded—was a pilot named Poe. He was nice, and he smiled a lot; he even offered to just let her spend the night, without sex of any kind, when he realised she was a virgin and that she didn't really want to do anything with him.

She'd almost taken him up on that offer, but then she'd remember that the next day, she'd be in another man's bed, and that man might not be as kind to her as Poe would be—she'd rather lose her virginity to him, knowing she had at least a small chance of enjoying herself, than to one of the other male pigs that roamed the Resistance base.

And so she had let him take her, and she had, at least, enjoyed it a little bit. He'd been very gentle, and he'd made sure that she came too, before he took his own pleasure. In the days and weeks that followed, she learned all too fast that a man like Poe Dameron was a rarity.

She loathed most of the men on the base, ignored most of the women—there were far too many who liked bragging about their numerous conquests, including the married men, and the officers—and tried to keep to herself. Every evening during dinner, she'd be told which of the men had requested her, and where she'd be expected to show up after she finished her meal.

She'd be informed of what would be expected of her once she entered the bedroom—and some of the men liked positively horrible things; one liked to degrade and demean her, and another liked it when she pretended he was raping her.

(To her, that didn't feel much like pretending.)

They’re not _all_ horrible, of course. She has some men that she doesn’t mind so much, after a while, and some that she even _likes_ having sex with.

Poe, of course, is one of them—he doesn’t even want her to sleep with him every time he requests her. There’s been plenty of instances where he’d just ask for her company and conversation; where he’d just hold her throughout the night.

She likes those nights.

Fortunately, there’s others too, even amongst the higher ranking officers. A few of the other pilots are also kind to her, and while most aren’t very good at making her feel comfortable enough to actually take her own pleasure in their encounters, she does prefer those to the ones where she spends hours in the ‘fresher afterwards.

She hates the situation, and she hates that she has to do this—but she doesn’t hate everyone she has to do it with.

Not anymore, at least. 

She knows that Poe—the kind, sweet man that he is—had tried to request her on a permanent basis; but it seemed she'd attracted too much attention from the men higher up in the hierarchy. None of them were willing to let a lowly pilot take their newest, shiniest toy from them.

And so she was passed from man to man, her feeling of disgust and self-loathing growing with every man that spilled himself inside of her.

Of course, she’s not one to dwell on things she knows she cannot change—she’s strong, and she doesn’t need anyone to take care of her, but she’s no fool. She’s well aware that the things she does to survive don’t define her.

It’s not _who_ she is.

So she doesn’t fight it; she doesn’t cry, and she doesn’t try to steal an X-wing to get away—it’s not like she has anywhere to go anyway. She simply goes through the motions and goes on a mandated weekly check-up at the med-bay, lets them replace the birth control chip every three months, and goes to bed with a different man every night.

It goes on like that for nearly a year before Princess Leia requests her presence—at first, Rey fears that it is because Han Solo seems to have taken a liking to her; he's requested her several times, and no woman likes the girl their husband is sleeping with.

"You're afraid of me," the elder woman observes as Rey sits before her in her cleanest shirt and trousers, though her boots are horribly worn, almost as though the thought amuses her.

Rey doesn't speak, and simply stares at the tips of her boots, waiting for the woman to tell her why she's been summoned.

"As you may know," Leia finally says, "my husband sent Poe Dameron out on a very sensitive mission to acquire some potentially game-changing information."

Rey nods—Poe had told her all about it on his last night on base. He had requested her company for the night, and the request had been granted—she supposes that the higher-ups wouldn't begrudge him his choice of woman on the eve before a big mission—and she had once again found herself in his arms.

He'd offered to just have a drink together, and to talk—but she was so grateful for him and his kindness, she’d just wanted to make him feel cherished and loved, as he had done for her so many times. She'd used every little trick she'd learned over the past few months and made him pant and whine until he begged her; and for the first time, she hadn't felt filthy after they'd finished.

She remembers wondering if that's what love is supposed to feel like.

"Yes," she finally replies, "I know. Is he back?"

Leia's expression darkens, and Rey's stomach drops. "I'm afraid," the woman hesitates, "that he's been captured. We've no update on his status, but we are prepared for the worst."

Rey feels sick to her stomach, and she has to struggle not to burst into tears in front of the Princess. It feels surreal to think that Poe may be dead; he'd been so kind, and sweet to her, and she had come to count on his presence on the base. "Why am I here?" She rasps, unable to really hide how deeply the news had hit her.

"He was captured on Jakku," Leia says primly, "it seems he was able to secure the information we were looking for in his droid. Its last known location was not far from Niima Outpost—"

"—which is where I used to live," Rey finishes, immediately realising where this talk is going. "You want me to find it for you." She snorts unattractively and leans back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why would I do that? The Resistance took so much from me—why would I help you now?"

Leia winces and nods slightly. "I'm aware of what they've made you do, Rey, and I'm sorry. Unfortunately, it is the only way things work right now. I was in your position once—and I made the best of it. I used the situation to my advantage, so I can still fight for what I believe is right. I'm asking you to do the same."

She can’t rightfully argue with the woman, and reluctantly nods her head in response.

And that is how, two hours later, she finds herself in an X-wing, on her way back to Jakku, while a little voice in her head tells her she’s certifiably insane for helping the people that turned her into nothing more than a common whore.

She sighs as she prepares to enter hyperspace, and leans back in the slightly uncomfortable seat.

Unfortunately, the little voice is right.


	2. Chapter II - Jakku

# Chapter II  
Jakku

## “The enemy is anybody who is going to get you killed, no matter which side he’s on.”  
—Joseph Heller

Jakku is just like she remembers.

Hot, dry and absolutely miserable.

Her old AT-AT has been completely stripped in her absence—not that she is too surprised about that—and even the old doll that she’d left on the shelf is gone. She looks around, feeling oddly detached as she takes in the walls that had protected her from harsh weather and other scavengers for many years, and wonders if the somewhat naïve girl that left this place a year ago, looking for a better life, looking for a life where she’d be _free_ , is truly gone.

She’s not felt like that girl in a long time, and she’s never wished she could go back to being that starry-eyed little girl more.

She’d paid a fortune to land the X-wing somewhere safe, where no one would be stripping it for parts, and she hopes she won’t find that kriffing droid right away, no matter how much it would help the Resistance. She is looking forward to whatever little reprieve she can get from having to whore herself out every night just so she’ll get fed the next day.

She vaguely wonders how many nights of reprieve this little mission will earn her; not just here, but back on the base as well. She’d made it pretty clear to Leia and Han—who’d shown up minutes before she took off—that she expected some kind of compensation for retrieving BB-8 for them.

She stands in the middle of the AT-AT for a few more moments before she decides that more nostalgia isn’t going to help her find BB-8. She sighs and shakes off the many memories she still holds of this place, before stalking back outside and climbing onto her borrowed speeder to head back to Niima Outpost.

She’d managed to convince Unkarr Plutt to let her sleep in one of the tents while she searches for BB-8. She’s not entirely sure _how_ she managed that, but she swears she’d seen his eyes glaze over when she’d demanded he rent her one of those empty tents at the edges of the Outpost, right before he agreed and even offered to loan her one of the speeders.

Of course, she doesn’t really care _why_ he agreed—he did, and that’s all that really matters.

Once at the Outpost, she ties the speeder to the iron bars behind Unkarr’s little shack of a trading post, and offers Mashra, who is just walking out with a half-ration packet, a wry smile before she turns on her heel and heads towards her tent.

She has to start planning a way to locate BB-8 in this kriffing stupid desert, and she has very few ideas on where to start.

She’d already visited Tuanul, where Leia had told her it took off from—she nearly cried when she’d seen the many bodies that littered the village; women and men alike—and found _nothing_ that could help her find the little bugger.

She’d found Poe’s damaged X-wing and, in a moment of insane sentimentality, climbed into the seat to see if she could still feel him there—his scent lingered, and it had been comforting for a split-second before she realised she was being stupid. Poe had been a good man; a kind man; that had treated her the best way he could in a very bad situation, but he was never going to be a saviour to her.

The only person who is going to save her from this situation is _her_.

She’d decided that she’d remember Poe as the good man he was—she’d mourn him, and she’d miss his presence in her life, despite the circumstances that brought them together, but she wouldn’t let his loss cripple her.

She sighs again, curling up on the little sleep mat and shutting her eyes.

Obviously, she’s not meant to find this droid in a day—and that’s fine with her.

More time away from the Resistance Base.

Excellent.

.

.

.

**T** **WO DAYS LATER**

She’s not made much progress in the past couple of days, and she cannot deny that she is very tempted to leave the planet and disappear. She knows she could do it, and she _wants_ to do it, but there’s a small voice that constantly reminds her that Poe _died_ to get this information.

He died so the Resistance could get the information they need to end this war before it’s really started.

She may be willing to abandon the Resistance, but she’s not nearly as willing to abandon Poe—she knows it’d feel like betraying him—like tossing away everything he had ever done for her.

With a heavy sigh, she packs up her meagre collection of belongings in a rucksack and leaves the tent. She’d decided the previous day that hanging around in Niima Outpost wasn’t getting her anywhere, and that she’d move onto the next village. The village is located a good hundred miles from Niima Outpost, but she supposes it’s not unreasonable to think that BB-8 could have gotten that far—it’s not like it needs food or water, or even rest.

She ties her bag to the speeder, and is in the process of wrapping her scarf around her head against the harsh winds and sun when she’s broken from her thoughts by a loud, shrill beep.

She jumps, spinning on her heel to look for the source of the sudden noise.

And there, between the watering station and the cleaning stations, is BB-8. He’s beeping furiously, rolling around someone’s legs, keeping the unknown man trapped on the spot. His head is bent down and his back is to her, but she’d recognize that jacket anywhere.

“Poe!” She exclaims, breaking into a run immediately. Her heart leaps in her chest, and she doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry—he’s _alive, alive, alive_ —but she _does_ know that she’s so _relieved_.

“Poe!” She yells again when he doesn’t respond. “Poe!”

She’s nearly there when the man turns—she stops dead in her tracks, feeling quite like the air has been knocked from her lungs. That man is not Poe—his skin is dark and his hair is far shorter, and she doesn’t know him at all.

“Were you talking to me?” He asks quizzically, pointing to himself with a near comic expression of disbelief on his face. BB-8 has stopped rolling circles around the man’s legs and is rolling back and forth a little, clearly unsure whether or not to trust her—she’s sure he remembers her; she’d seen him in Poe’s quarters a fair few times.

“Where did you get that jacket?” She spits, swallowing past the bile that rises in her throat at the sight of another man wearing Poe’s jacket, “It belongs to Poe Dameron. Where. Did. You. Get. It?” She pulls her blaster from its holster and points it at him with a slightly shaky hand, refusing to show him that she’s on the verge of breaking down.

BB-8 squeals loudly in agreement and speeds to her side, bumping against her leg affectionately—that was easier than she had thought—before beeping rudely at the man. She returns her glare to him, not at all surprised to find him looking at the blaster in her hands warily, and takes a step forward.

“Answer me,” she demands.

 “Okay, okay,” he shouts, throwing up his hands in defence. “Okay! Yes, it’s Poe’s jacket. I—I helped him escape from the _Finalizer_ , and it worked, we got out, but they shot at us and we got hit…” He trails off and Rey feels the dreadful but familiar feeling of nausea well up in the pit of her stomach. “We crashed,” he says quietly. “Poe didn’t make it. I’m so sorry—I tried to help him.”

Tears burn in her eyes at his words, and she breathes a deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to regain some semblance of control over herself—she doesn’t cry.

Her childhood on Jakku had taught her very early on that tears were a needless and baseless waste on a planet with a water shortage. After joining the Resistance, she’d refused to cry, _refused_ to give into a useless weakness that wouldn’t make her feel better in the slightest.

And yet she finds herself on the verge of tears for the first time in years—Poe had been the closest thing to a friend she’d ever had; the only man that had treated her with respect when no one else had—she’d held out hope that he’d survived until now.

But he hadn’t.

She breathes in another shuddering breath and shuts her eyes, ignoring the man who’d taken Poe’s jacket—he’s staring at her, clearly uncomfortable and fidgeting—and takes a moment to compose herself.

She gives herself a full thirty seconds before reopening her eyes and shoving her despair away into a deep, dark corner of her mind. She returns her gaze to the strange man, quietly deliberating what to do next. She can’t very well take him with her; her X-wing only seats one, but she also doesn’t want to just leave him behind.

He’s the only one who can tell her more about Poe’s last hours. 

“You,” he hesitates, still fidgeting nervously with the end of the jacket’s sleeve. “You can have it back. Was he a friend of yours?”

She wants to nod and tell him that yes, she and Poe were good friends, and that his jacket should be hers; of course it should, because he would have wanted her to have it—but no words come to mind and she can’t seem to make her body cooperate.

It’s not until BB-8 bumps against her leg and beeps softly at her that she manages to snap herself from her daze. She sighs and nods at the little droid. “Yes, I know,” she mumbles. “You’re right.” She moves to turn away from the man in Poe’s jacket and inclines her head to where she landed her X-wing. “Come on, BB-8,” she says, “we’ve got to go. I need to get you home.”

“Wait,” the man cries out, grabbing her hand as she turns—her anger flares and she yanks her hand back immediately.

“Don’t touch me,” she hisses, pushing the tip of her blaster against his chest.

Before either of them can say anything else, Rey spots two Stormtroopers over the man’s shoulders—they spot her at the same moment she spots them, and she doesn’t know _how_ , but she knows they recognize BB-8. “Sithspit,” she curses when they turn towards her, their blasters raised. “Stang!” She turns to BB-8 and says hurriedly, “We have to go. Now.” She’s barely started running when blaster bolts start flying around her head. Suddenly there are several TIE-fighters overhead, and there are people screaming, and fires, and things blowing up— _stang, stang, stang!_

She’s ten feet from her X-wing when it’s blown up—she’s so close she can _feel_ the heat of the fire on her face, and she stumbles back a few paces, nearly tripping over BB-8 as she does.

The man grabs her hand again and drags her away from the wreckage of her X-wing seconds before it explodes, and she’s too astonished by his audacity to actually pull her hand away.

Well, that, and the continuous blaster bolts being fired at her head.

“Come on, BB-8,” she yells over her shoulder at the little droid. “Quickly!” She pulls her hand from the dark-skinned stranger again and shouts, “Stop holding my hand!” at him, before changing their direction ever so slightly to where she knows Unkarr has several unused but operable spacecrafts.

“Wait, wait, wait!” The stranger yells. “What are you doing?”

She doesn’t bother to look back—he’ll be following—and yells, “We’re taking one of those ships and flying the hell out of here!” She doesn’t look too deeply into why she’s taking him with her—it’s not like she can leave him, either—and continues running to one of the only ships that is still in good condition.

The rest of the ships are all essentially garbage.

“ _Fly_?” she hears him exclaim. “We need a pilot!”

“We’ve got one,” she yells back, only to be blown back by the blast when the ship in front of her explodes into a huge ball of fire. “Sithspit,” she curses again, reluctantly letting the man help her up before turning to the only other ship left.

“Garbage will have to do,” she groans before sprinting towards it, BB-8 and the stranger on her heels.

The doors open with a hiss, and she manages to get the ship off the ground and into the sky, the stranger—who she’d banished to the gunner’s post—constantly yelling unwanted and unneeded advice in her ear.

At least she managed to get the damn thing off the ground, she thinks, as she zigzags across the desert, trying to shake the two TIE-fighters still following her—the rest should be a piece of cake.

She feels the blast before she sees it, and she curses when she realizes they’re leaking fuel.

Instead of remaining close to the ground, like the man had advised her to, she tilts the controls and points the ship straight up, shooting out into the atmosphere and through an entire squadron of TIE-fighters. Rey doesn’t stop to stare, and instead prepares to enter hyperspace in record time—with the amount of fuel they’re losing per minute, she needs to do this fast.

“Hold on,” she yells over her shoulder, before turning back to the panels in front of her, punching in the coordinates to the only friendly planet she knows within a reasonable distance.

“Takodana, here we come.”

.

.

.

They'd made it to Takodana—barely.

Instead of the smooth landing she'd hoped for, they'd _skidded_ to a stop, narrowly avoiding crashing into the trees. Finn—that’s what _Poe_ had named him, apparently—had complained, but Rey had just been grateful that the ship had made it that far in the first place.

Once there, she'd set out to find replacements for the parts that had been damaged. She'd told BB-8 to stay in the ship; she didn't want to risk him being spotted again—being shot at once a day was more than enough for her, thank you very much—and she needed a moment to herself.

She’d left Finn with the ship, with specific instructions not to touch anything and _no_ , she does not need help, she needs him to stay out of her way, before heading off to the little market set up behind Maz Kanata’s Cantina.

Once there, she’d done what she did best; scavenged the cheapest parts and tools and bartered for cheap prices while keeping her mind _off_ of her impending return to the Resistance Base—this time without Poe there to make her life a little more bearable.

It takes her nearly four hours, but she has finally gathered everything she needs to repair the ship, and she begins the long trek back, laden with heavy bags and a sled to drag the components too big to carry. Her muscles burn in protest, unused to carrying and dragging such weight around—she resolves to train more in the months to come—and her mind refuses to quiet down.

The little voice in the back of her head is _insistent_ and _annoying_ , because it is right when it tells her she will _die_ if she has to spend another year as the Resistance’s whore.

She knows this; it is a realization that had struck her on Jakku; but she also wishes to adhere to Leia’s advice. Leia had made the best of the way the Resistance—and the Rebellion before it—worked, and made it so that she could still fight for the things she believed in.

Rey respects that kind of inner power, but she wonders, deep down, if she possesses that kind of strength of mind and heart. She wishes, desperately so, that she could simply say yes, but she is also mature enough to realize that innate stubbornness will not help her survive a lifetime enslaved to men’s base desires, destined to hide her own ambitions and goals because of her gender.

It may be the life Princess Leia had settled for, but Rey knows it is not one she would choose.

She sighs heavily as she finally reaches the front of Maz Kanata’s Cantina once again and pauses, wiping her forearm over her forehead, where several drops of sweat were beading and sliding down her temples.

She shoots a furtive glance to the entrance of the cantina and wonders if she’d get away with going in for a drink—just one—before returning to the ship, before she shakes her head and reminds herself of the several hours of work she has to look forward too.

She heaves another sigh and bends down, grabbing the handles of the sled and resuming dragging it forward, to the other side of the lake, where she’d crash-landed the YT-1300 freighter. The ship is so old, she grumbles to herself, that original parts were nowhere to be found on the little market; she considers herself lucky to have found as many components as she did.

The trek back to the ship takes her another hour—whereas it only took her ten minutes on her way _to_ the market—and by the time she gets there, her breathing is laboured and her arms are shaking.

Silently grateful for the fact that there are not a lot of people around on this side of the lake, she drops the three bags she’d slung over her shoulders and drops the sled, rolling her shoulders in a hopeful attempt to shake out the kinks that had formed while she carried the bags.

“BB-8? Finn?” She calls out, picking up the bags again as she walks into the ship. “I’m back.”

There’s no response, and a little shiver of dread makes its way down her spine as her head swivels back and forth, taking in the empty ship. She drops the bags and runs towards the bedroom and the ‘fresher—maybe they’re just in there; maybe the guy needed to wash up and is still in the ‘fresher and just can’t hear her.

She hopes for his sake that that’s the case—she _told_ him not to leave the ship—because she is going to bloody _throttle_ him when she gets her hands on him.

Just when she’s about to panic, she hears BB-8 beep shrilly as it rolls up the ramp into the ship, and Finn’s deep voice as he replies to whatever BB-8 said. She exhales in relief and hurries back to the front of the ship, just in time to see them stop and puzzle over the bag she’d left there as she ran into the ship.

“Where the hell were you?” She exclaims angrily. “I told you not to leave the ship, you son of a Bantha!” She pokes him in the chest aggressively, feeling inordinately pleased when he takes a few steps back and raises his hands in surrender.

“We were just looking around,” he sputters, “I went to get us some food and water from that cantina—that’s all. I checked the supplies on the ship first, and there wasn’t anything edible left, so I—”

“—so you thought it was a good idea to go out with him,” Rey gestures to BB-8 impatiently, “ _in public_? Don’t you think that if they could find us on Jakku, they can find us here too? For Force’s sake, do you have _any_ idea what’s at stake here?”

“Of course I do,” he says, a little too smug for her tastes, “I'm a pretty big deal in the Resistance. I know what I’m doing.”

Her eyes nearly bug out of her head when he says _that_ and she wants to laugh and smack him at the same time. “You’re no such thing,” she says scathingly, shaking her head dismissively. “I don’t—” She stops talking when someone screams outside, and an unnatural wave of heat seems to roll over them before it passes.

“What the hell was that?” Rey chokes, watching as his eyes widen in horror before he hurries outside. She looks after him quizzically for a moment before she follows him, finding him standing with four other pilots, all looking up at the sky with expressions of mixed curiosity and wariness.

She looks up, too, eyes widening at the sight of four large, red beams travelling across the skies.

She doesn’t know _what_ they are, but the sight of them makes dread pool in the pit of her stomach—and then, suddenly, she can’t breathe, and there are _thousands_ , _millions,_ of cries echoing in her head, and she can feel heat searing off her skin.

Her knees buckle and she stumbles, gasping as she tries desperately to force air into her lungs, and tries to push away the sound of those helpless cries. She grasps at the nearest thing to remain on her feet—it just so happens to be the sleeve of Poe’s jacket—and tries to blink, but her body won’t cooperate.

“So much pain,” she gasps, pressing her hand to her chest. “What was that?”

She knows Finn’s talking, and maybe she should listen, but there are still _so_ many voices in her head, confused and afraid and crying and she can’t breathe—she needs to get away.

Away from here, away from _him_ , just _away_.

She turns on her heel and runs, sprinting into the woods—but not before she yells at BB-8 to stay on the ship, where he’ll be safe—to get away from whatever it is that’s happening to her.

She just needs a moment to _breathe._

She’s been running for less than ten minutes when she hears the distant sounds of screaming and explosions—she’s not close enough to hear the blasters, but she knows that if she turns around now, she’ll be found soon enough.

She _should_ go back— _should_ take BB-8 and hide him and whatever information he holds—but she _can’t_. She can’t make herself move back towards the fighting, can’t convince her body that she’s needed there, that she has to do this for _Poe_ —in fact, she can’t move at all.

“What the—” she chokes, fighting against whatever invisible restraints suddenly hold her, when she spots him. He’s tall and dressed entirely in black robes, and his face is covered by a mask—but she can sense _something_ from him, and she isn’t sure if it terrifies her or comforts her more.

“There you are,” the man speaks, his voice mechanical and void of emotion, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Before she can speak, he gestures to the men behind him—Stormtroopers, she realizes—and says, “Go find the droid. I will take care of this one.”

“Who are you?” She breathes shakily, still attempting to struggle against whatever he’s doing to restrain her. “What do you want from me?”

He’s quiet at first, walking around her in slow, deliberate circles as he studies her. He finally stops behind her, and she can feel his body heat when he steps closer, his voice a near whisper as he says, “So, so many things, little girl.”

And then, there is nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another little chapter of this little piece of trash. There will be canon elements, but also lots and lots of AU, and I will be taking a lot of liberties on political issues and such. Also, I warn you in advance, there will be violence and mentions of sexual assault in this story. 
> 
> Of course, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed and followed and faved and left kudos--you guys are amazing :D
> 
> Thanks to Juulna (MeaghanM) for beta'ing, listening to my incessant ranting and growing idiocy on the subject of this story :D I love you, girl, and you're totally my Reylo-soulmate :p
> 
> Please leave a little message with your thoughts! :D
> 
> Love, Annaelle


	3. Chapter III - Interrogation

# Chapter III  
Interrogation

##  “War is what happens when language fails.”  
—Margret Atwood

The first thing she becomes aware of is something tying down both of her arms. They are pinned down by her sides and, no matter how hard she pulls, she can’t move them. Her legs are similarly tied down, and it’s not until she tries to slip out of her boot to get her foot loose that she realizes she is being observed.

She stills and swallows thickly, every little hair on her body standing on end as she tries to recall the moments in the woods before she lost consciousness. Memories flash before her closed eyelids at dizzying speeds, and she feels slightly nauseous when she remembers _him_ —when she remembers being _helpless_.

She lets out a breathy sigh, gathers all her courage, and turns her head slightly so she can look at him.

“Where am I?” She’s surprised by how steady her voice is, but she’s careful to keep her expression neutral—she’s not going to give that laser brain _anything_ , no matter what he does to her. From what Finn had told her, Poe had withstood _a lot_ of torture from this _monster_ before he finally caved. If Poe could withstand it, so can she.

“You’re my guest,” the mechanical voice answers, and she’s certain he’s mocking her—because if _this_ is how he treats his supposed guests, she’s almost afraid to see what he’d do to his enemies.

“Where are the others?” She demands harshly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer to his earlier jibe.

He tilts his head to the side slightly and she can tell he is studying her—and she hopes he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. “You mean the traitors, thieves, _murderers,_ and _rapists_ you like to call friends?” Rey doesn’t quite manage to hide her grimace when he describes them as such—mostly because she _knows_ he’s right, and she can’t refute his words without _lying_.

“You’ll be pleased to hear I have no idea,” he adds, and she almost exhales in relief.

Almost.

Instead, she maintains her steady glare and clenches her jaw as she imagines—vividly—bashing his head in with her old staff.

Almost as soon as the thought crosses her mind, she can sense a wave of something like _amusement_ coming from him—and she’s far too busy being startled to think much upon _how_ she felt that—before he says, “You still wish to kill me.”

“Tends to happen,” she spits back, “when you’re being hunted by a creature in a mask.”

When she looks back on it later, she’s not entirely sure _what_ she expected him to say in the face of her accusation. Maybe something to negate her; something to counterbalance or disprove her words; something to throw her own words back at her.

She does _not_ , for a second, expect him to _remove_ said mask—and she is decidedly _not_ prepared for what he looks like beneath that mask. He’s young—younger than she anticipated—with curled black hair that is surprisingly voluminous despite being trapped under a helmet for hours, a long face dominated by a large nose, full, pink lips and rather big ears.

He’s handsome, in a way, and it throws her for a minute.

He looks so _human_.

She watches, still speechless, as he unceremoniously plunks the mask down on a large ash tray before approaching her.

“What do you want from me?” She whispers, wiggling in the chair uncomfortably when he leans down over her, crowding her with his large, imposing form. She can barely breathe when he's this close, and it makes her want to crawl out of her skin. “What do you _want_?” She repeats, focusing on how she _hates_ this man, simply because he's clearly First Order, and they are responsible for killing Poe, for hurting so many others—for wanting to take people's freedom away.

“You're a peculiarity,” he finally replies, leaning back just a tad. “One that I intend to _examine_ thoroughly.”

“I’m no one,” she contradicts almost automatically; a response that had been drilled into her head for as long as she could remember. “I’m a scavenger girl from Jakku—I’m no one.” The words feel hollow as they roll from her tongue, the lie thicker and harder to pronounce than it ever was before, and there is _something_ pushing against her consciousness, pleading to be let in.

“You know I could just _take_ whatever I want,” he says, his voice level and calm—but the words are _too familiar_ , too painful to hear again, and her entire body freezes in fear.

“No,” she whispers, turning her head away from him, desperately wishing that she could escape his touch.

It’s no use—his hand follows her movements, hovering just above her forehead, and she can _feel_ him pulling, _dragging_ memories to the forefront of her mind. She can see the moments playing out all over again, and it’s the _worst_ kind of torture she could ever have envisioned.

She’s forced to _feel_ everything all over again, and she’s _drowning_ in the sensation.

Pain.

Fear.

Loneliness.

“You’re so lonely,” he taunts—but she can sense an underlying emotion from him. One she’s certain he didn’t expect her to recognize— _empathy_.

“So afraid to leave,” he continues, flashing through her memories of her life on D’Qar, “despite what depravities and terrible things they made you do—despite knowing you could steal an X-wing and escape to that ocean you so often dream of. That little _island_. I see it.”

She grits her teeth and pushes back, with all her might, against the probes in her mind—against _him._ “Get out of my head,” she hisses, _willing_ him to back down, shoving him back as hard as she can, “I’m not giving you _anything_.”

She can feel him fighting back, shoving at her mind with short, sharp jabs, and she can see the little muscle in his jaw thicken as he spits out, “We’ll see about that.”

The struggle lasts no more than a minute, and suddenly, he falters, and Rey is hit by an unexpected and strange bout of dizziness—the world before her seems to spin, and she switches between seeing _him_ and seeing herself. All she can hear are relentless taunts and jeering laughter—and she feels so _small_ and _worthless_ and _afraid_.

Memories flash before her eyes—memories that are not _hers_.

“You,” she gasps, arching forward in the chair, straining against the bonds that hold down her arms and legs, “You’re so _afraid—_ that you’ll never be as strong as Darth Vader.”

“Enough!” He bellows, surging forward to shove her down on the chair—the connection snaps, and she feels like she _crashes_ back into her own mind, watching him pace around the room with large, impatient strides. “You,” he starts, shaking his pointer finger at her, “You are powerful. More so than you know, little girl.”

She’s still gasping for breath, her head spinning as she attempts to come to terms with _everything_. “What was that?” She chokes, lifting her head up so she can look at him again. “How did I do that? How did _you_?”

He raises an eyebrow at her before a sly smile spreads across his full lips. “The Force—surely you know who and what you are? I would imagine your family made sure to tell you _never_ to use your powers again, until they told you it was safe to do so.”

Her heart sinks as she stares at him, the _knowing_ look in his eye downright _terrifying_.

“I’m no one,” she repeats again, “I can’t use the Force—I don’t _know_ what just happened.” She believes in her own words—she had stopped being a part of her family the moment they abandoned her on Jakku. And though she, deep down, recalls someone telling her to remember that she shouldn’t use her name anymore, she has no recollection of her life before being left on Jakku.

“Of course,” Kylo—she’d snagged that name from the deep recesses of his mind, had seen him giving himself the name to wear like armour—shrugs casually. “Your family is of no further importance.” He stops before her again and eyes her intently. “I can teach you. I can show you the ways of the Force.”

“You would make me a monster,” she sneers, appalled at the mere _thought_ of allowing the monster that _killed_ Poe—even indirectly—to teach her anything.

“No,” he chuckles, “No—I would make you _strong_. Untouchable.”

The words are tempting, and she can nearly envision herself standing before the men of the Resistance, strong and brave and _untouchable_ , and she honestly considers saying yes for a split-second—and then she remembers Poe’s face, the way he’d smiled at her, and the way he’d tried to protect her in the only way he could.

She remembers hearing that he was captured. She remembers Finn telling her that he and Poe were shot down, and that Poe didn’t make it.

The First Order was responsible for his death, and she would _never_ side with them because of that.

“No,” she hisses, relentlessly pushing down the tears that are burning behind her eyes, “I’ll _never_ be on your side— _you_ are the murderers and thieves, not _us_.” Before she can say anything else, she feels him press into her mind again, and she _can’t_ shut him out.

An image of Poe floats to the forefront of her mind again, and she can feel his genuine surprise.

“The pilot,” he drawls slowly. “You care a great deal for him.”

“I did,” she snaps, narrowing her eyes at the audacity he must have to bring up Poe. “And then you took him—you _killed_ him.” And suddenly, everything she had felt when Finn had told her Poe was gone wells up again, and the images of what she would have to endure at the Base without Poe there to protect her, at least a little bit, flash before her eyes.

She doesn’t even realize he was watching along with her until he chokes, and she turns to him, surprised by the absolute _disgust_ on his face.

“You’ll be glad,” he chokes, even paler than he had been before, “to hear that the First Order does not treat its female soldiers and officers as such— _any_ female for that matter. Every contribution to winning this infernal war is appreciated, and it matters not whether you have breasts or balls.”

His jaw is clenched, and she can tell he is absolutely _seething_ on her behalf, and it confounds her.

“As long as you have a brain,” he thunders, “You will be appreciated here, and no one is treated like a slave based on their _sex_.”

Rey is stunned by the intense anger behind his words, and openly stares at him. No one has ever responded like that to what the Resistance did to her, and she’s not sure what to make of it.

Surely there is more to it than second-hand anger over seeing her memories?

“Join me,” he finally says, stepping forward and pressing a button on the panel beside the chair. The restraints open with a hiss and she holds her breath, unable to quite believe that this is happening. “Join me,” he repeats, “and I swear I will do _everything_ in my power to ensure you will _never_ be touched against your will ever again.”

“You’ve killed,” she whispers, “ _thousands_ —millions. I felt them, though I don’t know how. How can I join an organisation that destroyed… _destroys_ innocent people? That destroyed the only man that ever treated me with _respect_?”

He is silent for a long time, and she almost thinks no response will come—she almost thinks he’ll just refasten the restraints and leave her—when he finally says, “He’s not dead. Your pilot—Poe Dameron. He is quite well. His Force signature is quite strong, I assure you. He’s not dead.”

She gasps, her eyes filling with tears despite her best attempts to keep them at bay, and struggles to _breathe_ , to _think_ —it can’t be real, Kylo has to be lying, he _has_ to be.

Poe is _gone_.

He’s _dead_. Finn saw him die and she _felt_ it, she _grieved_ for him—she felt the pain of losing him and being unable to do anything to save him.

He can’t be _alive_ and well.

He can’t be.

She closes her eyes, squeezing them shut as she takes a deep, ragged breath, a single tear running down her cheek as she repeats her new mantra to herself, desperately shoving her hope deep down.

It’s not real, it’s not true; he’s just saying these things to make me join him.

“I’m not lying,” Kylo says, and she can sense _amusement_ from him. “Your pilot is alive and well.”

She swallows thickly, eyeing him suspiciously, but nods. “Show me,” she says hoarsely, “Show me how you know.” Before she’s had a moment to prepare, she can see his memory in her mind, _feel_ the immense amount of power he exerted to locate that little star with its own humming melody—to find it absolutely untainted and intact.

He’s _alive_.

She doesn’t need to know much about the Force to know that the little light belongs to Poe, and he’s _alive_ —and that’s all she needs to know.

She knows what she needs to do.

“I’ll join you,” she tells him, “But only if you swear to me that you will make sure that Poe remains unharmed and _free_ —whatever happens from this point out.” She sits up straighter and looks him right in the eye, refusing to back down. “Promise me none of your men or Stormtroopers will hurt him in any way.”

He stares back with something akin to curiosity in his eyes for a long time before he nods curtly. “I swear,” he replies. “I will see to it that he is not harmed in any way.” He holds out his hand again and says, “Do we have an agreement?”

She stares at his outstretched hand for a long time, the little voices in her head waging a war of their own as she attempts to contemplate the consequences of accepting his help, his protection and his hand. There are _thousands_ of little implications should she allow him to teach her—because she has no illusions that he will show her anything but the Dark Side of the Force—and she isn’t sure if she wants that.

But, more than anything, she never wants to feel helpless again.

She never wants to be forced back into her life at the Resistance Base.

The only thing—person—that had really tied her to the Resistance, Poe, would be safe if she did this. He would be spared, and he would be able to build up a life away from this mess—and so her last tie to the Resistance is severed.

She takes a deep, shuddering breath, meets his dark, hypnotic gaze with her own, and takes his hand.

An electric current shoots through her arm the moment her skin touches his, and she gasps, surprised, tugging her hand away from his and cradling it to her chest. Her skin is still tingling as though receiving tiny little aftershocks, and it’s both pleasurable and terrifying. When she looks up at him, his eyes are wide and surprised, too—but there is a hint of recognition in them, and his lips quirk up into a little, genuine smile before he speaks.

“Don’t be afraid. I feel it too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank you all for your support of this story--I have most of it written, only three more to write before it'll be completed, after which I'll be updating twice a week. 
> 
> For now, updates are scheduled for every Saturday :D 
> 
> Thanks a million to Juulna (MeaghanM) for her endless patience and listening to my medication-induced rambling for much of the past few weeks. You're a saint, darling :D


	4. Chapter IV - D'Qar

# Chapter IV  
D’Qar

## “The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.”   
― [G.K. Chesterton](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7014283.G_K_Chesterton)

Poe presses the button to release the hatch so that he can exit his X-wing, feeling more than a little satisfied with the outcome of their mission. They’d retrieved BB-8 _and_ managed to force the First Order into retreating without too many losses on their side.

He considers that a win.

He hopes that he’ll get the chance to see Rey today; he’d been back at the Base for less than two hours, both of which he spent in the med-bay, when they’d gotten the call that BB-8 had somehow ended up on Takodana and that the First Order was on their way there too, so he’d not had the time to seek her out; to see if she was okay.

He’s worried for her.

He has watched her grow skinnier and paler over the months, and he’s going to speak to General Solo about letting her out of the life he now knows she was forced into.

It makes him feel sick to know he’d contributed to that life, even though he’d tried to protect her.

He’d done a fairly shitty job at it, he’ll admit that freely, but he’d tried.

He climbs from the X-wing and hands off his helmet to one of the ground crew that had hurried towards him and the ship as he landed. “I think the main fuel tank took a hit,” he tells Marty, one of their younger mechanics, “and I got the feeling my blasters weren’t entirely up to par either.”

Marty nods, but before either of them gets another word in, they’re interrupted by shrill, excited beeping, and Poe barely manages to turn around in time to avoid BB-8 bowling him over in excitement at being reunited. He laughs, feeling a little lighter and happier already, as he listens to his loyal, excited little droid beeping and squealing.

“Yeah, I missed you too, buddy,” he chuckles, kneeling next to BB-8 and patting the droid’s side.

BB-8 squeals again, and Poe’s eyes widen a little at that. “What?” He breathes, looking up to where BB-8 said the Millennium Falcon—who’d have thought that ship would ever be found again?—had landed with _Finn_ on board. He doesn’t listen to most of BB-8’s other frantic beeps as he catches sight of him— _he’s_ _alive_.

He’d mourned the loss of a potential good friend—the man who went against everything he’d been taught to save him from the First Order; even though he only did it to save his own skin too.

He chuckles, his lips curling up into a large grin when Finn starts hurrying towards him. He stands and meets Finn halfway, nearly bursting in laughter at the awestruck way the younger man says his name before he manages to catch him in a hug.

“You’re _alive_ ,” Finn says, sounding both relieved and worried at the same time.

Poe chuckles and pulls away from him, keeping his hand on Finn’s shoulder as he does. “So are you,” he exclaims happily, “I was afraid you’d—” He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t _need_ to; it looks like Finn understands what he means perfectly.

“What happened to you?” Finn inquires, eyes wide and concerned, and Poe’s a little struck by how _handsome_ Finn is—how had he not seen that before?

He needs a second to shake off that sudden flare of attraction—it’s been some time since he’s actually been with a man, and he chooses to blame that—before he says, “What happened? I got thrown from the crash, woke up at night—no you, no ship, nothing—”

Before he can elaborate, BB-8 interrupts, squealing about how Finn had kept the First Order from taking him on Jakku and Takodana, and Poe can’t quite hide his awestruck expression.

“BB-8 says you saved him,” he tells Finn, who’s still looking at the droid with an expression of mixed confusion, suspicion and fondness.

“Well,” Finn stutters, and Poe _swears_ he can see him blush a little. “It wasn’t just me—we never would have even escaped Jakku without—”

Poe doesn’t let him finish; he doesn’t have the patience to—he’s just _so_ relieved that everyone’s okay and that Finn _finished_ his mission for him when he thought Poe wouldn’t be able to do it anymore. “You finished my mission, Finn,” he tells the younger man with a bright smile, patting his leather clad shoulder, “that’s—” he cuts off and stares at the jacket for a long moment before blurting, “that’s _my_ jacket?”

“Oh,” Finn stutters—and he’s _definitely_ blushing now—attempting to shrug it off immediately, “yeah, here…”

He can tell the younger man is somewhat embarrassed. Though he really isn’t sure why, it’s quite touching to know Finn kept _his_ jacket through the entire journey from Jakku to Takodana to D’Qar—and he has to struggle to not laugh, because he’s sure Finn won’t take it well. “No, no,” Poe chuckles, refusing to think upon how he thinks Finn looks better in that jacket than he ever did. “No, you keep it. It looks good on you—you’re a good man, Finn.”

Finn smiles weakly, and he looks like he’s about to say more, when Poe spots General Solo and Princess Leia stroll towards them from the ship Finn had disembarked—is that really _the_ Millennium Falcon?—and jumps into position immediately.

“General,” he nods respectfully, “Princess.”

Leia offers him a bright smile that makes him glow with pride—the Princess’s approval has always meant a lot to him, after his own mother passed away—and her husband grumbles good-naturedly. “Mister Dameron,” Leia says, her voice smooth and almost melodic. “It’s good to see your prior injuries didn’t cause any permanent damage.”

He nods before laying his hand on Finn’s shoulder again. “I believe you’ve met Finn?” He asks proudly. “He’s the reason I was able to escape the Finalizer, and I understand he found BB-8 and finished my mission too.”

“I couldn’t have done it without Rey,” Finn says bashfully, though he does look troubled.

And then his words register, and Poe’s eyes widen as he swivels around to stare at Finn. “Rey? What the Pfassk does Rey have to do with this?” He looks from Finn to the General and his wife a few times before he realizes just how _guilty_ the Princess looks.

“Well,” she starts, looking down and away, and Poe’s stomach sinks—he has a _really_ bad feeling about this— “when you were taken, we were able to intercept several messages from the First Order that indicated you had entrusted BB-8 with the map. When we used his location software to find him, we found that he last pinged not too far from Niima Outpost—”

“What, so you sent _Rey_?” He exclaims, taking an angry step forward. “ _Without_ back-up? Are you people out of your damn minds? She could have been _killed_ , for Force’s sake!” An awkward silence falls between the four, and Poe’s stomach sinks further when he realizes what had been wrong with this picture all along—Rey isn’t _here_. 

“Poe,” Finn starts, reaching out to touch his arm. “It’s not their fault—”

Poe won’t have any of it—his blood is _boiling_ , and he has _never_ been this angry before—and yanks his arm out of Finn’s reach as he balls his fists, glaring at the couple he’d always _trusted_ and _believed_ in. How could they have sent a defenceless girl into a dangerous situation like that without back up?

“What the Pfassk is _wrong_ with you?” He shouts, well aware that he’s drawing the other pilots’ attention, “She’s _nineteen_ for Force’s sake! Haven’t you done _enough_? Are you so intent on _destroying_ her life that forcing her into _prostitution_ wasn’t enough—you had to send her on a kriffing _suicide_ mission too?”

“Wait,” Finn exclaims, his eyes wide and disbelieving. “You did _what_ to her?”

Poe ignores his new-found friend and glares at the Princess, who seems to shrink a little with every hateful word that falls from his lips—and he _would_ feel bad at that, but he’s _so_ kriffing _angry_.

“Hey,” Han speaks up for the first time, “don’t talk to her like that, kid. It was _not_ a suicide mission—Rey was the only one who knew the terrain; she had the biggest chance to find and bring BB-8 back.” The elder man sighs and shakes his head regretfully, and Poe _hates_ to see that the man is genuine in his regret, “We didn’t think she would be in any serious danger—we didn’t think she’d register on their radar at all.”  

Finn puts his hand on Poe’s arm, and Poe calms _a little_ , turning to face Finn. “What happened?”

“She—” Leia begins, but Poe interrupts and shakes his head, shooting a glare at the Princess. He’d admired her for years—nearly kriffing _worshipped_ the woman—but he can’t even stand to _look_ at her right now. “I don’t want to hear it from you,” he hisses venomously. “I don’t want to hear _anything_ from you right now.”

He turns back to Finn, who simply swallows thickly before he starts. “I—we… The ship was damaged when we got to Takodana,” he says hesitantly, “so Rey went to get some parts so that she could fix it. And she told me to stay on the ship, and I should’ve listened, but I—I wanted to _help_ , so I went to the Cantina, and—”

“Finn,” Poe sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “please get to the point.”

“She was _so_ angry,” the younger man replies weakly, his eyes wide and pleading. “And then we saw—the Hosnian system—it… it was like Rey got hit, too. She nearly fell over, and she was crying, and then she suddenly just ran away, and then there were Stormtroopers _everywhere_ —I saw Kylo Ren carry her aboard a ship before they retreated. I think she was alive, but—”

Poe chokes, nausea forcing its way through his entire body as he recalls his own time spent in Kylo Ren’s interrogation chamber, before Finn came to get him out. He forces himself to take a few deep breaths to steady himself—he _can’t_ afford to lose his head now—before he turns his gaze back to the General and the Princess, who were listening to Finn’s explanation with rapt attention as well.

“When are you setting up a rescue mission?” He demands, his tone brokering no room for argument.

“Poe,” Leia speaks, her tone sad and soft, “we can’t afford to risk the manpower needed to free _one_ person from the Finalizer—much less a girl. We all care about Rey, but we’re far more concerned about the things she knows—she knows where our Base is, she could lead them straight to us. We’re better off preparing for that eventuality than a rescue mission that wouldn’t eve—”

“It’s _your_ fault she’s even there in the first place! If it had been _you_ ,” Poe bellows, jabbing his finger in Leia’s direction angrily, “We’d all be on our way already! We are _not_ leaving her there to _die_!”

“Poe,” Han sighs, looking older and wearier than Poe has ever seen him. “We don’t have a choice. I’m sorry.” The man steps forward and claps him on the shoulder, almost like the friendly gesture will just make it alright that they sent an innocent girl to _die_ for them— _after_ they spent an entire year forcing her to have sex with every man on Base in exchange for _food_.

It’s not alright, Poe fumes internally, watching the elder couple stroll towards the hangars, and he’s going to do whatever he has to in order to _fix_ this.

He’s getting Rey back, one way or another.

He failed her once, and he’s not going to do it again.

He turns sharply, eyeing the other pilots—who are all still standing by their X-wings, clearly having overheard the conversation—before he strides towards them, purpose and confidence clear in his step. He knows many of the pilots refuse to take part in the way the Resistance treats young girls, and women in general, and he plans on using that—none of them will agree with leaving a young girl like Rey to the mercy of the First Order.

He hears Finn rushing to follow him, though he’s sure Finn is still confused about the various interactions he’s just witnessed.

“Where are we going?” Finn asks, a little breathless from trying to keep up with Poe. “And what the Pfassk did you mean by prostituti—”

“We’re making this right,” Poe replies grimly. “I’m organising a search party, and then I’m getting Rey back—I’m not leaving her in the hands of that _monster_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! 
> 
> After this chapter, the chapters will be getting longer, and there will be small timejumps :) I promise, after this chapter, we will also be going back to Kylo and Rey :D Here's a nice little peak into life at the Resistance Base from everyone's favorite pilot, Poe Dameron! 
> 
> Thanks a million to Meaghan for her efforts to help me when I'm stuck on this story and the right way to write Kylo and Rey and their character development. 
> 
> As always, thanks to all of you for your support! I love you all!
> 
> Love, Annaelle


	5. Chapter V - Finalizer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Kylo and Rey, darlings. Now, fair warning, this chapter earns it's E rating--violence and implied rape (not graphic, but there are allusions to it). 
> 
> Thanks to all of you for your comments and follows and faves, my loves! You are all awesome :D 
> 
> And a HUGE thank you to Meaghan for putting up with my whining and stressing over getting this chapter (and the rest of them ;p) right. You're a doll, Meaghan :D 
> 
> Please, leave a comment with your thoughts. 
> 
> Love, Annaelle
> 
> PS This story will have ten chapters, and then two sequels :D

# Chapter V  
Finalizer

## “Betrayal is a more subtle, twisted feeling than terror. It burns and eats, but terror stabs right through.”   
― Wendy Hoffman

Kylo Ren does not, by any means, consider himself a patient man. He all but stomps through the corridors, not stopping to wonder about the unusual drop in temperature as he nears Snoke’s cavernous throne room. The room is easily the biggest in the entire ship, and is always shrouded in shadows, the temperature significantly lower than it is anywhere else on the ship.

He is impatient and hot-headed and impulsive, and he is well aware that said qualities will get him into serious, irrevocable trouble one day—he just hopes _today_ isn’t that day.

He growls under his breath when another foreign flash of emotion shoots through his mind, and he cannot quite dampen his annoyance with the scavenger girl—she seems to have latched onto his mind somehow, and she is _quite_ loud with her thoughts and emotions.

Guilt, fear, relief, _hope_.

He doesn’t know what to do with that—she feels _so_ much, _so_ intensely—and his head feels as though it is about to explode with the amount of memories and impressions and feelings she is pouring into it.

It is a kind of headache he has not felt in a _long_ , _long_ time.

And yet, he muses, he has accepted the girl as his Apprentice. He had felt _enraged_ on her behalf when she had unintentionally shown him memories of her time with the Resistance—he is still unsure _why_ he felt so enraged on her behalf; he hardly knows her at all. He does not hold the Resistance and their treatment of women in high regards as it is, but after seeing how they had treated Rey, his _need_ for vengeance has come bubbling to the forefront of his mind again.

It has been a long time since he has actively thought about it, but now that he has, he finds that he cannot keep it _off_ his mind anymore either. He’s not sure he _wants_ to get it off his mind again either—he has lived with it for so long, he’s not entirely sure he will ever find a way to peacefully exist without its constant shadow looming over him—a crutch he cannot walk without.

And now, he has an Apprentice to deal with; one he had chosen himself, and one that will likely share in his _yearning_ for punishment—for the Resistance’s blood.

She infuriates him already; he needs not spend more than an hour with her to know she will push him to the very limits of his patience. She is the type to be defiant and stubborn, and she is going to drive him absolutely _insane_ —but there is something about her.

Something that called to him, even in the woods on Takodana—something that, even now, triggers the will deep inside of him to be _more_ than a revenge-driven nerfherder. 

He stops walking, staring ahead blankly as another wave of the girl’s emotions hit him, patiently waiting for the moment to pass, closing his eyes and sending back a wave of calm—he needs to be calm and focused once he enters Snoke’s lair, and he cannot do that with Rey bombarding his mind with thoughts that aren’t his.

He allows the wave of calm to soothe his own pained mind as well—he had left Rey in a somewhat comfortable cell while her quarters were being prepared. She had not been happy about it, but had accepted his explanation and told him she’d need more information about the Order—told him there was a lot they needed to talk about.

He’s sure there is.

He cannot imagine her being anything less than exceptionally curious and bright.

He hopes he is not wrong to judge her as such.

She has calmed, and he thinks she has fallen asleep, so he proceeds down the long hallway, mentally preparing himself to face Snoke—and potentially, his wrath. Kylo went off script when he decided to take Rey and leave the others to procure the droid—which they did _not_ do—and he knows his Master may decide to punish him severely for that lack in judgement.

He passes the squadron of Stormtrooper guards that are permanently stationed outside of Snoke’s chambers, shoving down every pesky little emotion that still lingers in his mind, and striding into the dark, cavernous room.

He passes the many desks that are arranged around the platform where the Supreme Leader stands.

The sight of the Supreme Leader is awe-inspiring, as it always is, and Kylo feels grateful, once again, that the powerful man before him enabled him in his quest for vengeance and power. It is, however, still somewhat disconcerting to see the man he had trained with since his teenage years only in the form of holograms, but the Supreme Leader had insisted upon it.

The hologram is over three metres tall, and Kylo feels as though it properly displays the power and authority that his Master possesses—unlike his Master’s true form, which is short and quite thin, with limbs that look as though they’ll snap beneath the smallest amount of pressure.

“Kylo Ren,” Snoke speaks, “What have you to say for yourself?”

Kylo bows his head in submission, allowing his Master access to his mind immediately. “The girl is _strong_ , Supreme Leader, and I will be able to convert her fully to the Dark Side. She is untrained as of yet, but she is stronger than she knows. I am certain she will be a valuable asset to our cause, and she has already consented to being my Apprentice.”

Snoke leans back in his chair, his fingers knitting together as he looks down upon Kylo. “She agreed only after a reassurance that was not _yours_ to give, Kylo Ren.”

He remains seated on his knees, wincing a little—he realizes he overstepped when he promised Rey no harm would come to her pilot—as he waits for his Master to speak again.

“She is one of the Resistance girls then,” Snoke finally says, his voice steady and calm—but there is a dark, hateful look in the man’s eye that tells Kylo of the true rage that lies beneath his Master’s calm exterior—as he studies Kylo.

“Yes,” Kylo replies softly, “She was. I would beg your permission to train her myself, Master. She’ll be a force to be reckoned with, and the Resistance will finally be punished for its disgusting promiscuity and their immoral and unjust treatment of women. Allow me to orchestrate their destruction.”

Snoke remains silent for a long time, and Kylo fears that he will be ordered to dispose of the girl for a short moment before Snoke finally says, “Very well. You have served me well, and if what you say is true, this girl will be the Resistance’s undoing. I shall inform General Hux of the arrangement myself. You are to alert the Knights that you have taken an Apprentice and then take her to the Temple on Moraband. You have three months to prepare her—then I will call for you, and you will bring her to me, whether she is ready or not.”

Kylo inclines his head towards his Master, but hides his relief and gratefulness.

The Supreme Leader has little patience for petty human emotions.

“Now,” Snoke drawls, leaning forward eagerly, “You will face your punishment for your insubordination.”  

He barely has time to take a breath before the pain hits him.

.

.

.

The unruly clatter of fighting reaches him long before he enters the practice area. It echoes through the long, empty hallways leading towards it, and it might be an ominous sound to anyone who does not belong in this area of the ship. It is a section of the ship entirely dedicated to the Knights of Ren and their training.

Not even General Hux is permitted to step foot inside these halls and chambers. 

Kylo Ren is, of course, aware that his seven Lieutenants have each taken a dozen or so Apprentices themselves—all with varying sensitivity to the Force—but he has not yet taken the time to inspect the latest new recruits.

He supposes that is what he will be doing today, after informing his Lieutenants of his new, personal Apprentice, and her demands regarding a certain Resistance pilot.

His Knights are loyal and strong, and they deserve his attention on a regular basis, and he will, grudgingly, admit that he has been occupied with many other things in the past couple of weeks, none of which included his Knights and their new recruits.

He enters the large space and, while he is well aware his Lieutenants will be able to sense his presence immediately, studies the sparring matches that are going on. The bulk of the arena is taken up by a group of gangly teenagers dressed in dark grey robes, struggling with poleaxes nearly as tall as they are.

He would chuckle at their apparent awkwardness and struggles, but he remembers all too well how difficult said poleaxes had been to handle. Jacen Ren, one of his lieutenants, who is standing a little away from the young recruits and shouting orders at them, is a difficult teacher to impress indeed.

Kylo nods in approval—many of these recruits are, indeed, Force-sensitive, but only mildly so. Being trained in several forms of fighting is something he has encouraged from the moment he had been old enough to truly comprehend the reality of battle and war—only being well-versed in a single form of combat would result in death. Being versatile and unpredictable is what ensures that he and his Knights win every battle they have ever engaged in.

Behind the sparring teenagers, Kylo can see a broad line of men and women, dressed in robes so dark they are nearly black, firing steadily with a wide array of weaponry at black and red target dummies.

He smiles, grateful that his mask hides his face, when he sees Lumiya Ren—plain black robes and leather trousers clothing her shapely frame. She is not wearing her mask and her long, straight black hair cascades over her shoulders, nearly down to her waist.

It is interesting, he muses, to see how she and Aalad’zaja, the only other female Knight, differ when it comes to their clothing. Zaja has always preferred longer, wider robes that obscure her figure entirely—when she wears her mask, one could not tell she was female at all—while Lumiya never lost her preference for simpler, but more form-fitting clothing.

He himself never had an issue with their outfits—the only thing he had ever demanded from his Knights on the matter was that their garments were to be pure black, and that they would not hinder them in a fight. In this, every single one of his Knights had obeyed him without question, and therefore he saw no reason to insist upon something akin to uniforms.

He wonders vaguely about Rey’s preferences before he shakes those thoughts and refocuses on his Knights.

Hoolidan, one of the older Knights, has detached himself from his own group of trainees and is making his way towards him with large, confident strides. “Master,” he speaks, his red eyes offset sharply against his blue-green skin. “I was not aware you planned an inspection today—we would have prepared the recruits more adequately for you.”

Kylo tilts his head to the side curiously—well aware that it unnerves Hoolidan when he is unable to see his facial expression—and studies the man. “It seemed,” he begins, “more prudent to perform unannounced inspections along with scheduled ones. To avoid unpleasant _surprises_.”

“Of course,” the male Duros nods. “Do you have a preference on which recruits to inspect first?”

Kylo shakes his head and straightens, standing to his full height as his voice echoes through the large chamber. He deliberately increases the volume of his voice. “No. I do, however, have an announcement for the Knights of Ren. Recruits, stand down while I speak to your Masters.”

The recruits all stare at him, their eyes wide and awed, and he attempts not to preen under their reverent scrutiny—arrogance does not become the Master of the Knights of Ren.

His Knights all swoop past their students and flock to his side, their dark robes flapping dramatically behind them as they move. The recruits stare for one more moment before Zaja barks an order at them and they scatter, some returning to their exercises while others form little groups that break into chatter almost immediately.

“Master,” Lumiya greets him, her face void of expression and emotion. “It has been some time since you have graced us with your presence.”

“That it has,” Kylo inclines his head towards her—Lumiya had always been one of his favorite Knights; she is strong and clever, and he is well aware that she is always aware of everything that goes on around her. In fact, he would not be surprised if she is already aware of Rey’s presence aboard the ship, and his reasons for visiting them today.

“I have, however,” he continues, “news that concerns you all.”  

The seven Knights all straighten just a tad, and he sees Dota Ny and Bo-Ro-Tara both reaching for their weapons, while Lumiya and Aalad’zaja both gather their hold on the Force. Jacen, Venamis and Hoolidan don’t respond visibly, but Kylo can tell that they are all tense, uncertain what kind of news would warrant the presence of all seven Knights of Ren.

“While on Takodana,” Kylo speaks, grateful for the fact that his mask filters out most of the emotion in his voice, “I happened across an exceptionally gifted Force-sensitive. I brought her aboard the ship—and she has recently consented to being my Apprentice.”

He can sense their disbelief and apprehension, and it saddens him that his Knights—his most trusted and loyal—would doubt his judgement.

“If I may, Master,” Zaja begins, “is she loyal to our cause? Takodana is known for housing those that sympathize with the Resistance—”

He holds up his hand and Zaja silences immediately, shrinking back a little, as though she realizes she has gone too far in questioning him—as though he would not have taken care to inspect the girl’s mind before he accepted her as his Apprentice.

Of course, there is no need to let them know that, while he was able to sense that Rey _loathes_ most of the Resistance with a burning passion, she shut him out before he could inspect her loyalties further.

“She will be loyal to _me_ ,” he speaks in a thundering voice, “and none will move to question those loyalties but me.” He glares at each of his Knights, and knows that, even from beneath his mask, his point has been illustrated quite clearly.

“Now,” he continues, “the Supreme Leader has granted my new Apprentice her only wish before she agreed to join us. Of course, he will expect all of you, including your recruits, to follow this order to the letter, if you wish not to be brought before him to be punished for disobedience.”

All of the Knights nod quickly, but only Lumiya has the gall to step forward again and ask, somewhat incredulous that Snoke would grant a mere girl a request. “What wish of hers did he grant, Master? And how are we to play into this?”

“The pilot,” Kylo deadpans, “Poe Dameron.”

He senses recognition in their minds, as he had expected—after all, it had been one of the Knights who recognized the man when he had brought him on board—and a healthy dose of confusion, too.

“It seems,” he elaborates, “my Apprentice believes she owes him a great debt. The Supreme Leader has agreed to not harming Poe Dameron in any way—in any conflict with the Resistance, Dameron is to walk away unharmed.”

“But Master,” Bo-Ro-Tara steps forward, “in direct one-on-one combat, would the Supreme Leader have us sacrifice ourselves so the man would walk free?”

Kylo tries—he honestly does—not to roll his eyes. “Certainly not,” he huffs. “General Hux is being given the same orders, and the Stormtroopers will know to steer clear of Dameron, too. If you were to encounter him in a one-on-one fight, I suggest you find a manner to incapacitate him so that he will awaken once the fight is over and be able to return to wherever he came from.” He takes a deep breath and adds, “Let there be no mistake—I support my Apprentice in her demand; I have seen what Dameron has done for her, and I see how she owes him a debt.”

He had not planned to throw his weight around, so to speak, but he senses that both Venamis and Dota Ny are not quite convinced of the severity of the punishment that awaits them should they violate this order.

“Yes, Master,” they all murmur after a short, tense silence, before he nods and dismisses them.

The only one that remains is Jacen, who nods respectfully before inquiring, “If you have no other duties to attend to, Master, might I beg a moment of your time? I believe my students would greatly benefit from seeing a Master at work in a sparring match.”

A wave of emotion from Rey crashes against the walls he had erected around his mind, and he grits his teeth in annoyance—he must remember to teach her to build protection around her mind before he teaches her anything else.

She is attempting to drive him mad, he’s certain of it.

He shoves the feelings she had sent to him away, not bothering to investigate them further, before he nods towards Jacen and draws his lightsaber. “Of course,” he says, “anything to help groom our next generation of Knights.”

.

.

.

Several hours later, Kylo finds that he has missed sparring with a somewhat competent partner. Jacen had managed to get a few good hits in, and his ribs still ache when he breathes in too deeply. He is, at the moment, more preoccupied with the feelings Rey is projecting towards him—while he had been able to ignore her while he'd been sparring, he had noticed when the undertone of her emotions changed, grew darker and desperate, and he worries about the sudden change.

He is, of course, not at all familiar with Rey’s mind just yet, but he has sensed a certain pattern in her emotions thus far, and the things she is projecting now are _far_ from it.

He supposes he might have left her waiting far longer than he had originally intended—perhaps she's simply vexed because he left her by herself in the cell for so long. He _had_ promised to return soon to show her to her new quarters—seven hours later may not count as _soon_ anymore.  

He had, at least, removed his mask already. He had immediately sensed that the mask put her on edge in a way that was not at all beneficial to his cause. He needed her to grow comfortable around him, so that he would be able to recondition her mind as Snoke had commanded without her noticing—so that he could fully turn her to the Dark Side.

It is only when he reaches the door that leads to Rey’s temporary cell that he realizes something is _truly_ wrong. The Stormtroopers that had been posted by Rey’s door are nowhere to be found, and now that he is this close to her, it is almost like Rey is _screaming_ her feelings of anger and fear and _betrayal_ at him.

When he opens the door, he is surprised to find the cell shrouded in darkness, and he can barely make out Rey’s form curled up on the cot in the corner of the cell. He frowns and, with a flick of his wrist, the cell is suddenly bathed in light, and he is stunned at Rey’s appearance.

“Rey?”

She is pale, huddled in a little ball on the bed, her hair no longer up in the three buns, but mussed and knotted, almost like she had been running her fingers through it endlessly. Her eyes are red-rimmed, almost as though she had been crying, and her lower lip is red and swollen.

“Rey?” He inquires quietly, unsure what to make of this. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

She’s silent, and doesn’t respond when he calls out to her and approaches her, and that alone worries him in such a way that he feels like he’s going to be ill—he does not know much about Rey, but he _knows_ she is anything but silent. Without truly stopping to think about it, he takes her hand in his and pulls at it gently, guiding her from her seated position, to the door, and then through the corridors to her new chambers.

Once there, he drops her hand in order to close the door behind her, still unsure on how to get her to tell him what exactly had happened.

He turns around to find her standing in the middle of the room, looking rather lost.

Until her eyes meet his.

Before he realizes what she’s doing, she is across the room, slapping him so hard, he’s pretty sure he’ll bruise, shoving him back against the door, as tears slip down her cheeks uncontrollably—and he can feel everything she’d been trying to hide, everything she so desperately didn’t want to feel, just pour out, and he doesn’t think she can stop it.

“You _promised,_ ” she cries, her voice breaking in the middle of the sentence. “You promised you guys were _different_!” She punches him in the shoulder as hard as she can, one insult after another spilling from her lips, and he’s just _standing_ there and taking it and _what in the name of the Force is going on?_

He finally manages to grab ahold of her and clenches his fingers around her shoulders, momentarily stunned that his hands completely envelop her shoulders, and shakes her. “What the Pfassk is going on, Rey?” He demands, worry and frustration coiling in the pit of his stomach.

All the fight drains out of her, and she slumps forward into his arms, one arm slung around his neck while the other curls around his waist. “You promised,” she whimpers quietly, sliding her fingers through his hair with one hand, while curling the fingers of her other hand into his shirt, “You promised I’d never—that no one would—but _he did_.”

She dissolves into tears again, and he senses she won’t be able to stop once she’s started.

Kylo is at an absolute loss—he has never been faced with this kind of situation before, and he hardly knows how to comfort a distressed woman—and awkwardly pats her back as she clings to him.

“Let me see,” he whispers softly, “let me help you. I need to see what happened. Let me in, Rey.” His arms tighten around her as though to strengthen his words, her fingers clenching in his shirt and his hair, keeping him anchored against her while her tears rapidly soak his shirt.

He has a feeling that he knows where this is going—the lack of Stormtroopers at her cell is _very_ telling—and he can feel the rage bubbling up inside of him already, barely contained. He pushes against the walls surrounding Rey’s mind gently and reluctantly strokes his fingers through her hair, sensing that it’ll calm her and put her at ease.

And then he is seeing flashes of her afternoon. A stinging slap to her face, before being forced onto her knees and—

He forces away the image, but he can’t quite push away the _awful_ feeling of being forced into submission, the pain as the ginger-haired man forces himself on her multiple times, the bruises that form on her thighs and arms where he’d held her too tightly…

“You promised,” she cries, “but then he came, and he—he said—”

 “I’ll take care of it,” he hisses through clenched teeth, his hands shaking with barely-repressed rage as he pushes her back gently. “I’ll make him pay.” He looks over her, eyes lingering on the places where he _knows_ she is aching, and offers, “Do you—would you like a medical droid?”

She looks up at him with wide, teary eyes before she moves her head from side to side curtly.

He nods and takes a step back, shakily pointing towards the bedroom and the bathroom. “Fresher’s in there,” he says. “Bedroom too. Try to get some rest—I’ll return shortly, after I’ve taken care of the man who did this to you.”

He has turned around and is nearly outside when she asks, so quietly that he nearly doesn’t hear, “ _Why_?”

He pauses, fingers clenching into a fist as he takes a few deep breaths to steady himself—he may have a terrible temper, but he is not incapable of controlling himself when he needs to. “Because,” he finally replies, “this is _not_ what the First Order stands for—and this is _not_ something he will be allowed to get away with.”

“He’s a General,” she chokes, and he can tell she is crying again, even without looking at her.

“I don’t care. He will be punished.”


	6. Chapter VI - Starkiller Base

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Meaghan M (Juulna) here - Annaelle's beta. I'm updating for her as she is still in the hospital, recovering. Don't worry; she's okay and will be up and at'em again soon!
> 
> Here's the next chapter for you - one I'm sure you were eagerly awaiting, as the whole Hux thing gets addressed! (Don't worry, Annaelle, I forgive you for writing Hux as a terrible person :P <3)
> 
> Hope everyone enjoys, and has a great day! Do let us know what you think. ^_^

# Chapter VI  
Starkiller Base

## “I found him carefully studying me, his lips in a thin line. “Has anyone ever taken care of you?” he asked quietly.  
“No.” I’d long since stopped feeling sorry for myself about it.”   
― Sarah J. Maas

Rey _hates_ that she let that man get under her skin so much; that she let him come so close to _breaking_ her—because she had. He had hardly been the first man to force himself on her, but she had honestly wanted to believe Kylo when he swore that no such thing would be allowed to happen to her here.

It had been foolish and naïve to believe him, but she _had_.

She remains standing for another long moment in the middle of the rooms which Kylo had, apparently, prepared for her, swallowing thickly, before she can’t stand the feeling of her _clothes_ and her _skin_ anymore. She nearly _rips_ the fabric off, stumbling towards where Kylo indicated the ‘fresher was—she needs to be _clean_.

She wants to hide away in a dark little corner and protect herself—she wants to crawl into that ‘fresher and wash away every sign of her weaknesses. She would need time to rebuild that wall—the wall that had always kept her safe; the wall that would keep her from shattering when Kylo would decide to leave her on her own again as a result of causing too much trouble.

She looks down at her hands, noting how much they’re shaking, and wonders vaguely if this is just her breaking point—perhaps she’s just… reached her limits.

Perhaps it is time to just… let go.

The thought, however, feels foreign in her mind and she _knows_ she is stronger than this. Her hands curl into fists, and she deliberately does not look at the bruises that are blossoming on her wrists and arms.

She can still feel his touch, despite Kylo’s attempts to soothe her; can still feel the _filth_ of his assault, and she wants it _gone_. She can still feel his pale fingers trailing down her throat before he forced himself inside of her repeatedly, while three Stormtroopers stood watch in the corridor—to make sure Kylo Ren wouldn’t catch them unawares.

The shaking has now become almost uncontrollable, and she shivers in disgust—disgust with General _Hux_ , as he had so proudly called himself, disgust with his actions and disgust with _herself_.

With whom she’d become.

She stumbles to the ‘fresher, tripping on her way in, her legs no longer able to support her weight. She crawls the rest of the way to the ‘fresher, leaning her head back against the wall as she raises one arm to turn on the stream of hot water—no cold water added.

It is so hot it burns, soaking through the thin shift she is still wearing within seconds, but the burn feels good. The burn is a kind of pain that doesn’t feel like it is about to consume and destroy her.

She doesn’t let herself think anymore.

She doesn’t even feel.

She just sits under the scalding hot spray and cries, loathing herself for the mistakes she’s made, loathing herself for letting Hux ruin her tentative faith in Kylo Ren. Loathing herself for letting this get to her so badly when she’d been through much the same before this. She ignores the deep red marks that start to form on her skin, the tears running down her cheeks mixing with the water that cascades down from the shower head.

She feels filthy.

She feels stupid, for believing that her life could be falling into place, for letting her guard down and believing Kylo, for believing that maybe she could learn to love herself again. Rey feels completely overwhelmed by the pain that wreaks havoc through her entire body, and she cannot even push it back anymore—can’t pretend she doesn’t feel _wrecked_ and _broken_ and _used_ anymore.

So she gives in.

And she cries.

And cries.

Until she has nothing left to cry about—until there is nothing left within her.

She feels empty.

And it doesn’t hurt anymore.

.

.

.

The first time she wakes up after her scalding hot shower, the bedroom is silent and the lights are dimmed, and her entire body is aching. Her mind is oddly quiet, almost as though she doesn’t quite know what to think after the events of the past day, and she finds a little peace in that quiet.

Soon though, the ache in her body becomes too acute to ignore, and she lets out a soft whine of pain as she rolls over to the edge of the bed.

She startles when she looks in the mirror on the bedroom wall, nausea once again rising in the pit of her stomach as she eyes the blossoming bruises that cover her upper thighs, belly and arms. Her lip is still red and swollen, and the skin around her left eye is a little black and blue as well.

She presses her hand to her belly and hisses, tears springing to her eyes at the sharp pain that shoots through her body at the soft touch. “Sithspit,” she curses, stumbling back towards the bed, “that _hurts._ ”

She’s never been _this_ sore before, and she is unused to this kind of pain.

None of the men at the Resistance had ever beaten her.

“Excuse me, Miss,” a mechanical voice interrupts her, and she jumps, smacking the back of her leg against the edge of the bed.

“Ouch,” she cries, biting her lip to distract herself from the pain. “Sithspit.”

“Miss?”

She turns to look at the medical droid that had appeared in the doorway, her fingers still curved over her bare ribs. “Hi,” she says through clenched teeth, “I take it Kylo Ren sent you?”

“Yes, Miss,” the droid responds, rolling forward. “Please remain still while I scan for injuries.”

She doesn’t argue further and simply lets the droid treat her—once it is done, she lies back on the bed, sighing in relief when she can do so without pain, staring up at the ceiling blankly as she wonders how she could break even after a year of being exposed to the same abuse.

Why this time?

She ponders on the question for hours, until the lights dim again, and she slips into sleep without even realizing it.

The next time she wakes up, there is a small pile of clothes waiting for her on the table in the main area, along with a full tray of food and drink—she is still, even after a year spent at the Resistance Base, unused to seeing such quantities of food and water, and doesn’t touch the tray for hours, watching it as her stomach grumbles and protests.

She does, however, replace her damaged garments with the newer, dark grey ones, and is grateful to find that all of the garments have been tailored to perfection _and_ to her tastes.

There are even new boots, in black, soft leather that she instantly falls in love with.

After she has dressed, she finally gives in to her stomach’s furious demands to be filled and eats to her heart’s content, enjoying the many kinds of fruits—many of which she has never even seen before—and drinks all the water she can.

She’s tried not to think of the things General Hux made her do while in that little cell, but, even though her body doesn’t ache with the memory anymore, her mind keeps slipping back into that dark space, and she keeps replaying the memory until she can look at it without crying or hurting or _anything_.

She just… doesn’t feel much of anything anymore.

Now, she just waits.

Waits for a new meal to be brought inside by a droid.

Waits for Kylo Ren to finally show up.

He doesn’t.

.

.

.

Another two days later, she looks up from where she’s curled up on the sofa when the door opens with a hiss, revealing Kylo Ren’s impressive stature. She wants to care that he’s returned to her, as he had promised, but all she feels is dull numbness.

He is wearing his mask, which surprises her for a split-second before she decides that she doesn’t care, and long dark robes with leather gloves. In his hand, he clutches a rumpled ball of dark fabric.

“Why are you so…” He hesitates, and she can tell he is struggling to find the right word. She can feel him brushing against her mind—has learned to recognize the feeling in the past week—and refuses to let him in again.

“Where were you?” She demands, and she feels proud that her voice is strong and steady. “You said you’d come back and you didn’t. Where were you?” She doesn’t _want_ him to know that his presence had been comforting, that he had made her feel safe—but she can’t _quite_ hide the desperation in her voice as she speaks, and she hopes he hasn’t noticed.

He stills at the question, and she can tell he had not expected her to speak at all, given her mental silence towards him. There is a short silence before he replies, “I had things to attend to. Did the medical droid tend to your injuries to your satisfaction?”

She clenches her jaw angrily, but forces herself to remain calm and nods. “Yes,” she replies evenly, hesitating for a moment before she adds, “Thank you.”

He inclines his head towards her before he speaks. “I am pleased to see your new garments fit nicely.” He holds out the ball of fabric in his hand and adds, “You will be required to put this on before we leave.” She stares at him for a couple of long moments, frustrated with his lack of response to her earlier queries before snatching the fabric from his hand and shaking it open.

“A cloak?” She frowns, “Why would I need a cloak?”

He is silent, and she huffs in frustration before doing as he’d requested, and pulling on the cloak over her new, dark grey tunic and trousers. “Happy?” She grumbles, setting her hands on her hips and glaring up at her—freakishly tall—new teacher.

“No,” he replies gruffly, “but I suppose I’ll make do for now. Come.” He spins on his heel and stomps out of the room, and she rolls her eyes at him—she is in _no_ mood to deal with him and his permanent broodiness—before reluctantly following him outside.

The halls are the same dull gray color as her new rooms, and she is a little surprised that there are virtually _no_ Stormtroopers patrolling the corridors, despite her expectations. She has to walk a bit faster to keep up with Kylo, whose longer legs seem to carry him forward _a lot_ faster than hers carry her, and studies him, unsure what to make of this ice-cold determination she senses within him.

“Where are we going?” She finally asks, resisting the ridiculous urge to pout at him when he swivels around and glares at her—at least, she assumes he’s glaring beneath that mask of his—and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Must you turn _everything_ into a fight?” He demands, and the voice modulator can’t quite filter out the amused exasperation in his voice, and she fights the ridiculous urge to grin at him—she’s _angry_ , stang it. She wants him to tell her what the hell he is up to, if he made Hux pay for what he did to her, and why the hell she hadn’t seen him for four days after he told her he’d be back soon.

“Must you _always_ answer a question with a question?” She shoots back, refusing to back down.

He shakes his head, before grabbing her elbow—with a gentle but firm grip—and guiding her into a dark alcove. She presses against the wall as he removes his mask, her heart beating a mile a minute, unsure of what the kriff he is up to this time.

His dark eyes sparkle with amusement as he regards her, his helmet dangling loosely from his fingers, and she is only a little startled to feel something _warm_ and unfamiliar glow beneath her breastbone.

“I did not come to you earlier because I sensed you needed space,” he speaks, his voice soft and kind, which baffles her a little, since she hadn’t really thought him capable of such emotions. “Also, I was, as I promised you, pre-occupied with making sure General Hux would not be allowed to get away with what he did to you. I needed to see to the preparations for his punishment. That is where I am taking you.”

She is staring at him, her mouth wide open.

She has _no_ idea what to say to him—she does not even know what to _feel_.

No one has ever done something like this for her before, and she doesn’t know what the appropriate response is—what _do_ you say to someone who’d arranged your tormenter’s punishment?

She finds that, in the end, it hardly matters what the social protocol is—she doesn’t care either way.

Instead, she just smiles broadly and lunges forward, wrapping a _very_ surprised and uncooperative Kylo Ren in a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispers, “no one’s ever done this for me. Thank you.”

He stiffens in her arms, his own arms trapped by his sides by hers. “You are welcome. Now… Let me go,” he enunciates, clearly very uncomfortable with the affectionate gesture.  

She grins as she leans back, biting on her lower lip hesitantly before lifting up onto her toesto press a kiss to his cheek—she has _no idea_ where that idea comes from, and she refuses to think about it—and replies, “I think this will be the only time, _Master_ , where I will not listen to you. Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me.”

The way his cheeks redden tells her that he is as unfamiliar with this kind of affection as she is, and that only endears him to her further.

She lets him shove her back, and she can’t quite keep the smile off of her face when he stalks back out into the hallway, only to stop after four steps when he realizes he hasn’t put his mask back on. She chuckles as he awkwardly tugs it back on, and follows him through the corridors with a new spring in her step.

The fact that she is walking towards what may very well be someone’s execution—on _her_ behalf—doesn’t really seem to sink in. She’s sure she is supposed to feel guilty, or at least uncomfortable, but she doesn’t really feel _anything_ about it.

The only thing she really registers is that Kylo Ren is keeping his word.

He is going to punish one of the men that violated her—he’s not going to let something like this happen again.

Maybe the First Order isn’t so bad after all.

She follows him through the maze of corridors, still unsure of what to expect, or where this _punishment_ would be taking place—an interrogation room, much like the one he had put her in on her arrival here, perhaps. She is so lost in her thoughts that she nearly walks right into him when he stops suddenly in front of a non-descript, steel door.

“What?” she asks, eyeing his mask in frustration—she doesn’t like _not_ seeing his face. “Are we there?”

“Yes,” he replies simply, stepping forward and tugging the hood of her cloak up and over her head, so far forward, she’s sure he can barely see her face.

It hits her then, what she is likely about to see—what Kylo has set up for her—and though she supposes she should feel dread or nausea or even guilt, she cannot quite summon up any emotion but undulated _glee_.

She wonders if feeling that way makes her evil.

She supposes that to some, it does.

Rey isn’t entirely sure what the expression on her face tells him, but she _swears_ she feels something like approval _radiating_ off Kylo before he nods and gestures towards the door. “Come,” he says, “and keep your hands in your sleeves.”

She frowns a little at the odd request, but does as he says nonetheless.

When the door opens, she is quite startled to find that they are _not_ entering an interrogation chamber, like she had expected, but are actually stepping _outside_. She gapes at her surroundings, her eyes wide and her jaw slack, because it’s so _cold_ , and she—

She has never seen anything like this before.

The podium they are standing on is _enormous_ , arched in a half circle, with a large space cleared before it, large enough to house an entire fleet of TIE-fighters, she muses. She turns slowly, in awe of the sheer _size_ of the mountains that surround the little valley they are in, and wonders over the fine white substance that covers _everything_ in the near vicinity.

She marvels over it, slowly raising her hand to catch one of the shimmering flakes.

She doesn’t really notice Kylo had continued walking until he calls her name, and she looks up to find him standing several metres away.

“I’m sorry,” she says breathlessly, hurrying back to his side, “I’ve never—is this _snow_?”

He stills, turning his head towards her in silence. “Yes,” he finally replies, “keep your hands in your sleeves or you’ll freeze your fingers off. Now come.” He gestures towards the middle of the podium, where seven tall figures stand, hands clasped behind their back, all wearing masks similar to the one Kylo is wearing—the Knights of Ren, she realizes quickly.

Behind them, a contingent of officers is gathered, all dressed in dark winter coats lined with fur, their expressions wavering from disgruntlement to downright glee.

And finally, she realizes why Kylo had demanded she wear the cloak—not for warmth, as she had initially thought when she stepped outside, but to grant her some sense of anonymity, should she wish to have it.

Kylo pauses, undoubtedly taking in the same sight she is, before continuing towards the Knights. “—should’ve know they’d _all_ be here,” he mutters under his breath, so quietly she’s sure he doesn’t mean for her to hear. “ _Kriffing vultures_.” 

She isn’t entirely sure what he’s talking about, but as they approach the Knights, they all sink into bows, their silence reverent. As she and Kylo reach them, one of them—a tall, slim woman—reaches up and removes her mask. Her skin is a pale shade of green, and her cheeks and chin are tattooed with the same geometrical design.

What startles Rey most about her appearance are her eyes—a violent shade of orange.

“I am Lumiya Ren,” she speaks, inclining her head towards Rey, “on behalf of all Knights of Ren, I wish to express our support to you. You are one of us now, and we are duty- and honour-bound to protect you—and we punish those that hurt our own.”

Rey stares at her, speechless, barely managing a small nod in appreciation as she attempts not to be completely overwhelmed by this entire day. Kylo Ren being kind and loyal to her and protective of her is one thing—she’s fairly certain all Masters are the same with their charges—but she had not expected the same of the Knights of Ren.

She swallows thickly and squares her shoulders before pushing back her hood, and meeting Lumiya’s strange, bright orange eyes with her hazel ones.

They stand together, staring at each other, for a brief moment before Kylo strides forward and grabs her elbow, leading her forward, through the formation of Knights, to where a lone figure is kneeling, arms spread and chained to separate poles.

Rey does her best not to gasp when she realizes that it is not the man in chains Kylo is leading her towards, but the giant hologram of a man behind him—she isn’t quite sure how she missed _that_ before. The man looks old and ill, a large scar disfiguring his head and face, and a quiet sense of _power_ is radiating from him, even through the hologram.

She realizes that this must be the man Kylo had called Supreme Leader Snoke, and her mind is whirring with a mix of gratitude and awe towards the man who so cherishes female rights. She cares little for his poor looks—she’s known plenty of better looking people with _terrible_ personalities. It stands to reason that the opposite can be true.

Kylo walks until they stand directly before the man and sinks down on one knee, into a reverent bow. She’s sure no one can tell due to their thick and wide robes, but he tugs on her elbow insistently until she follows his lead and sinks into a kneeling bow as well, dipping her head down low. Her heart is racing, and it’s only the steady pressure of Kylo’s hand on her elbow that keeps her from outwardly responding to all of this—there is much more pomp and grandeur here than there ever was at the Resistance Base.

There is a pressure on her mind, and she gasps quietly, focusing on the steady, comfortable pressure of Kylo’s hand on her elbow before she allows Snoke access to her mind.

She senses his acceptance in her mind, and she can feel Kylo rise to his feet at her side, but her legs suddenly feel like jelly, and she is not entirely sure she can stand. She exhales shakily, surprised to see her breath condense into a tiny white cloud, and attempts to make her legs _move_ , but she _can’t_.

She wants to _cry_ , because she’s so humiliated, and the cruel little voice in the back of her head that has been there since she arrived, insists that she is weak, and that she will never be strong enough to stand up against men like Hux—but then Kylo Ren reaches down, and takes her hands in his, pulling her to her feet.

She gasps, and the cold leather of his gloves creaks beneath her fingertips.

“Stand up,” he says quietly, the mechanical hiss of the voice modulator a little unsettling. “You are stronger than he is, and he knows it. This is a test. Show him _no_ weakness.”   

She grasps at his hands for another moment, staring hard at the mask, where she knows his eyes are, before she nods shakily and lets go, straightening and tossing her hair back as she lifts her chin. Snoke may value her rights and her life, but he will clearly not treat her with gentler gloves because of her gender either.

Snoke glares down upon her and Kylo Ren for another long, tense moment before he addresses the small crowd gathered behind them. “You ask, undoubtedly, why I have brought you out here today—why I would expose you to such harsh elements, in the middle of a gathering blizzard. You ask, undoubtedly, why I have one of _your_ _own_ tied up in a manner that is barely befit for the ugliest and most foul of beasts.”

Rey swallows thickly, her eyes straying towards where Hux is kneeling, clad only in trousers and a loose tunic, as she tries not to show her trepidation—or her _glee_.

“I am certain,” Snoke continuous, “that you have heard many a rumor on the matter—rumors that I will now put to rest. We are a _civilized_ organization, and we _pride_ ourselves on treating _all_ of our comrades equally, regardless of their race, species or gender. Unlike the _cowardly_ Resistance, we find no need or pleasure in forcing a partner in the search for sexual gratification.”

Rey stiffens a little as murmurs break out between the officers that are gathered behind the Knights.

“Such acts of _cowardice_ and _perversity_ will be punished,” Snoke thunders, “mercilessly, as they always have been in our organization. The punishment will be _equal_ for each and every one of our members and supporters, no matter your _rank_. Equality is no longer something to strive for—it is an achievement we have met and succeeded at. And in the spirit of said achievement, _Mr_. William Hux, I shall have no choice but to sentence you to a punishment befitting your crimes.”

An ominous silence falls, and all gathered stiffen—she would almost think that they are all holding their breaths, if she could not see the small white clouds of breath escape from their lips.

“You have forced yourself upon Kylo Ren’s _protected_ and _valued_ Apprentice,” Snoke hisses, and a strange feeling washes over her—gratitude and appreciation—as he speaks. “You forced her to participate in sexual acts she did not consent to; for these accusations, you have been found _guilty_ , and you will be sentenced to _death_.”   

Rey nearly chokes on her own spit when those words fall from Snoke’s lips, her eyes widening as her mind whirs with a strange mix of horror and gratitude. She swallows thickly and turns, carefully studying the ginger-haired man as he kneels before her and Kylo.

She wonders why her life is so much more valuable than his.

What makes her so different?

The other Knights are arranged in a deliberate setup around her, Hux and Kylo, so that the officers that are watching have an unobstructed view of the events that are about to unfold.

“Before this sentence will be carried out,” Snoke booms, “the Knights of Ren will be allowed an opportunity to satiate their need to avenge one of their own.” The gigantic hologram turns to the Knights and states, “Proceed as you desire—but do not kill him.”

The first Knight steps forward—Lumiya Ren, as she later realizes—and raises the weapon she’d been holding; a Z6 baton. She inhales sharply at the sound of the electrified baton hitting flesh, and the responding cry that falls from Hux’s lips.

Immediately, Kylo’s fingers wrap around her elbow again, and he subtly nudges her chin up with his free hand. “Look at him,” he tells her, keeping his voice low enough so that only she can hear him, “this is for _you_. The Supreme Leader is watching you carefully, and he is _looking_ for weakness. Give him none—don’t flinch, don’t blink and don’t look away.”

She swallows thickly and balls her hands into fists, grateful that her sleeves are long enough to hide the small move.

“Take comfort in the knowledge that we are doing this for _you_ , Rey,” Kylo adds, without moving a single visible muscle. “This is for your safety and justice.”

It _is_ a comforting thought, a little voice in her head whispers, to know that they are willing to punish—even _kill_ —a General for raping _one_ little girl, who had been at their base for less than a day when the crime had occurred. She still finds it difficult to believe, despite the evidence that has been given to the contrary, that agreeing to be Kylo Ren’s Apprentice holds quite so much weight.

She doesn’t flinch when the second Knight steps forward and doles out his version of punishment. She feels sick to her stomach at Hux’s continuous cries and pleas for mercy, and she wonders if this is what she wanted—but then there is a little voice in her head that reminds her of what Hux had done to her, and that he deserves at least as much pain and suffering as he had caused her.

And she isn’t entirely sure that the little voice is wrong.

She spends the entire time in a daze, only blinking when her eyes are starting to water, while two voices in her head argue over the necessity of this much torture—over whether or not it is okay to _like_ the sounds of his cries and the sight of his broken form hunched over red-stained snow.

When Kylo steps forward, her heart leaps in her chest, and she is once again surprised by his fervour to defend her—his _rage_ on her behalf. The other Knights had all used weapons to exact their vengeance, but Kylo, it seems, has no patience or need to use such means, and simply plants his fist in the middle of Hux’s face, and Rey _refuses_ to flinch at the audible sound of bones breaking.

Her breath escapes from between her clenched teeth in a hiss as Kylo kicks and punches Hux a few more times before he turns, extending his hand to her.

It is only then that she realizes how Snoke means for this to end.

He wants her to deliver the final blow.

And suddenly, she is not so sure she _wants_ the man dead anymore. Death seems like an awfully harsh punishment in light of his crimes—and _yes_ , she is well aware of what he did to her, but…

She’s not sure she can live with this man’s death weighing on her conscience.

As she steps forward, hesitantly putting her hand in Kylo’s, there’s a small voice in her head that suggests that yes, death may be too steep a punishment for the man’s crimes—an escape from a life of suffering that he _deserves_.

Maybe death is not too steep, but too _easy_.

Maybe she would feel better if he had to _live_ , every day, with the knowledge that what he had done to her had _ruined_ his career and his life. With the knowledge that the filthy little Resistance slut had been the one to _ruin_ him.

Maybe she _can_ live with that on her conscience.

Kylo presses a pistol into her hand, and guides her hand up, until the barrel rests against Hux’s temple. She’s _sure_ he can tell just how shaken she is, how _conflicted_ , because she still can’t look at Hux’s broken form without feeling both pride and gratitude and absolute _horror_.

“Pull the trigger,” Kylo orders her calmly. “Slay your demons.”

And it makes _so much_ sense.

All she has to do is pull the trigger, and she’ll have won—she’ll never be bothered by the ginger-haired man ever again, and she’ll have proven to _everyone_ , including herself, that she _is_ strong enough.

That she _can_ stand up for herself.

Her finger curls around the trigger of its own accord, and she doesn’t realize quite how much she’s shaking until Kylo drops his hand from hers and stands back, falling into rank with the rest of his Knights—and she _wants_ to make him proud, _wants_ to see him smile again beneath that infernal mask of his, but she _can’t do this_.

“No.”

An eerie silence falls over those gathered, and she can feel all eyes—including Hux’s, who’s managed to get to his knees again—on her as she turns to face Snoke.

“This is too easy,” she tells him, reverently sinking down onto one knee again as she lays the pistol near his feet. “I don’t want him to get off this easily—I want him to _suffer_ , and I want him _alive_.” She looks up, straight into those cold eyes and says, “I want him to _live_ with the knowledge that he is only alive because the little Resistance _slut_ decided to spare him. Strip him of his rank, and punish him as you will—but let him live with the knowledge that _I won_.”

No one speaks for a _very_ long, tense moment, before Snoke leans back in his throne and staples his fingers together as he regards her.

“So be it.”


	7. Chapter VII - Resistance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the well-wishes and the comments on the last chapter :D I'm home now, and while I'll be recovering from surgery for another five weeks (ugh.) I'll at least have time to write a lot :D Also, I'm totally okay, and I'm touched by your concern :)
> 
> You're all the best!
> 
> Here's another little chapter for this little story. There's three more chapters to go after this one, and after that, there will be a sequel. The sequel will not, however, be posted right away, since I want to outline it properly and write at least half of the chapters before I start uploading so I can keep a regular update schedule. 
> 
> Also, this story will be under revision before the sequel's posted too; chapters will be expanded and more details and extra scenes will be added. In essence, nothing should change plotwise, but there will be more details on things like Rey's time at the Resistance and such. 
> 
> If there are things you'd really like to see, please, let me know, and I'll definitely look into adding them :D 
> 
> In any case, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I'll see you all on Wednesday for the next one! 
> 
> Please leave a little comment with your thoughts! :D 
> 
> Love,  
> Annaelle
> 
> PS Thank you to Juulna (Meaghan) for being the best beta ever! :D

# Chapter VII  
Resistance

## “The problem with comprehension is, it often comes too late.”  
—Rasmenia Massoud

“Tell me about Rey.”

The way Finn poses the question—strongly, not-quite-a-question-at-all—unnerves Poe for a short moment before he moves to sit down next to Finn, offering him a swig from the bottle of Corellian Whiskey he’d nicked from the kitchens. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realizes that getting drunk with Finn is hardly going to help him come to terms with having to postpone rescuing Rey, but he honestly couldn’t care less.

There’s much he’s yet to come to terms with, most of it pertaining to Rey’s life here on base, and he’s no closer to accepting that than he had been on the day he found out. 

He is, admittedly, impressed when Finn downs the alcoholic liquid without so much as a flinch.

He leans his head back against the wall and stretches his legs out before him, accepting the bottle from Finn when he holds it out to him. “She’s amazing,” he finally replies, turning to look at Finn with a sad smile. “I bet she could kick my arse into the next solar system if she wanted to.”

Poe still vividly remembers the first time he’d met her.

She had stood in the middle of his quarters, her hair loose and curly, dressed in flowing white robes, her eyes wide and profoundly _sad_. He knows now that she had been forced into his bed that night; but at the time he’d just thought she was nervous.

He wishes he’d known then—he’d never have gone through with it.

He would have found a way to keep her safe sooner.

Finn snaps him from his thoughts when he chuckles, bumping their shoulders together unintentionally. “Yeah,” Finn grins, “I kind of got that vibe from her too.”

Poe chuckles a little before chugging some of the whiskey again. “I didn’t know,” he admits quietly, “that she was being forced to sleep with me, with… _everyone_. I mean, I don’t ask for a girl a lot, but I… I thought she was like the others—I had no idea she’d only just arrived, much less that they practically blackmailed her into it. I took her _virginity_ , for Force’s sake—she was crying, and I just… How could I not have _known_?”

He winces when he feels his voice break, and he clutches the bottle of whiskey against his chest.

Finn tosses an arm around his shoulders, and Poe _tries_ not to notice the little flutter in the pit of his stomach that flares up every time Finn touches him—he knows himself, and he knows his own feelings, and he’s well aware what that little flutter is trying to tell him—but it’s stronger this time, and Poe doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol or the horrible day he’s had, and he just doesn’t _want_ to move.

He leans his head back against Finn’s arm and looks up at the rapidly darkening sky, wondering if Rey is somewhere safe—if she can still see the same stars he can see.

“I wish I could take it back,” Poe whispers. “I wish I’d known earlier what they were making her do.”

They’re both silent for a long, tense moment before Finn says, “Maybe she was glad it was you.”

Poe frowns and sits up, turning to face Finn with a confused look on his face. “What are you talking about?” He asks, a little bit of anger and frustration creeping into his voice and he _can’t_ help it.

“Well,” Finn sighs, sitting up a bit straighter as well, “she clearly cares about you a lot—she nearly cried when I told her I thought you’d died during the crash…” He trails off, and both men wince a little at the reminder of the three days they’d spent thinking the other was gone. “I mean,” Finn continues, “I don’t think she’d care that much if she hated you for sleeping with her.”

“Maybe she should,” Poe whispers. “Maybe _I_ do.”

He doesn’t flinch when Finn lays a hand on his shoulder and takes another swallow of his whiskey.

“So,” Finn says after a while, “who decided that girls are supposed to be treated like this?” Poe can _hear_ the confusion in the younger man’s voice, and he’s a little unsure—surely it’s not like the First Order treats women any different; that’s all he’s ever been told anyway.

“It’s always been this way,” Poe says quietly, “I think… Back in the Rebellion days, it was normal—there were women who fought, like Princess Leia, and others, who simply wanted to be close to the action, but not be a part of it. I’m not sure who decided that women could only be there for us to blow off steam with, but…” He shakes his head and shrugs, “I think the Council has something to do with it.”

Finn wrinkles his nose in distaste—Poe can’t quite blame him either—and says, “I can’t imagine treating a woman like that; not just because it’s wrong and illegal and they could execute you for it, but just… That’s another _person_ with feelings and a life, and it’s just…”

“Wait,” Poe frowns when he nearly spills his whiskey all over Finn’s lap as he turns around, “it’s _illegal_ in the First Order?”

“Well yeah,” Finn nods, eyeing Poe’s precarious hold on the whiskey bottle nervously, “there’s a whole bunch of punishments depending on what you did—I remember once, they executed two Stormtroopers for raping and killing one of the female recruits. It was terrible, what happened to her.” He shakes his head and rubs his hand of his forehead. “Supreme Leader Snoke himself attended the execution via hologram. He had them whipped and then shot.”

Poe feels a little nauseated at the thought, but nods anyway. “I had no idea,” he says quietly, “I thought that the First Order didn’t care what happened between their soldiers—I didn’t even know they had female soldiers at all.”

Finn snorts and shoves at Poe’s shoulder, and Poe can’t help but laugh at the adorable expression on Finn’s face. He’s not even sure why they’re laughing—their discussion had hardly been light or frivolous—but it feels _so good_ to just _laugh_ that he doesn’t want to stop.

They end up lying on their backs, side by side, breathlessly staring up at the now-dark and starry sky.

Poe’s thoughts stray to Rey once again, and he hopes that, despite being a prisoner, she is being treated better than he had been. Despite Finn’s earlier reassurances about the First Order’s treatment of women, he’s still wary of them—he has not forgotten being on the receiving end of Kylo Ren’s brand of questioning, and he still wishes he could spare her from that fate.

He’d promised himself, on the last night he’d spent with her, that he’d find a way to keep her safe.

It’s a pledge he feels truly shamed to have failed at.

“We’ll get her back, you know?” Finn pipes up, rolling his head to the side so he can look at Poe. “Tomorrow, after the meeting, we’ll have the details we need, and once we figure out _where_ Kylo Ren took her, we can go to get her back. She’s going to be fine.”

Poe rolls his head to the side as well and offers Finn a small, weak smile. “I hope so,” he replies quietly, heaving a deep, heavy sigh before looking up at the stars again. “I really hope so.”

.

.

**.**

**A DAY LATER**

Poe sits, dejectedly, on his small bed in his quarters, head bent down to rest on his hands as he attempts to reign in his disappointment and frustration.

The meeting had, despite his best efforts, been nothing short of an absolute disaster.

He could tell that the generals had already made up their minds before they’d even entered—they’d already decided that they weren’t going to waste any resources on saving one, inconsequential, little girl that had gotten herself captured by the most powerful Force-sensitive in the galaxy.

They seemed to think that the fact that Poe had every single pilot, several technicians and two engineers backing him in his determination to save Rey from being held by the First Order was _also_ inconsequential and ridiculous.

The council had voted on the matter anyway and had—unanimously—decided that the generals were correct in their analysis, despite Poe’s passionate pleas and disagreements. 

He'd been shouting, he recalls, before Finn and Snap grabbed his arms and dragged him from the room before he could do something _really_ foolish, like punching Admiral Ackbar in his stupid, arrogant face. He remembers turning to shout at them too, before he'd realised he was making a fool of himself—and he's smart enough to know the council might order him to remain at the base if they suspected he was turning against them.

He'd let Finn take him back to their shared barracks and had promptly collapsed onto his bunk, rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair in agitation while Finn watched from the doorway.

“We’ll find a way,” Finn tells him. “This is not the end of this—there’s still plenty we can do. And there are plenty of people who agree with you, Poe.” He knows that Finn means for the words to be comforting, but they really aren’t—because Rey has been in the First Order’s hands for three days already.

Force knows what they’ve done to her already—for all he knows they’ve _killed_ her.

He can’t _stand_ the thought of living in a universe where she doesn’t exist anymore, though, so he refuses to think of that possibility until he has seen evidence to the contrary.

He hopes he’ll never find that evidence.

“We might not have much longer,” he finally replies. “She’s been with them for three days already. How long do they usually keep their prisoners before they—” He breaks off, because he can barely stand to _think_ the words, much less to actually _say_ them.

Finn heaves a sigh and shrugs. “It depends on Kylo Ren’s mood.” He wrinkles his nose and adds, “Which is usually _terrible_ , but when a prisoner somehow impresses him, he likes to keep them around. And Rey…” He shakes his head, and drops himself on the small bed next to Poe—and Poe _can’t_ help but notice the way Finn’s thigh is now pressing intimately against his, despite the _terrible_ situation—before he continues. “I know you weren’t there to see it, but he _carried_ her aboard the ship.”

Poe frowns, unsure where Finn is trying to steer this conversation.

Finn rolls his eyes a little, clearly sensing that Poe isn’t quite grasping the meaning of what he’s trying to say. “He doesn’t _touch_ , okay? Like, seriously, I’ve never seen him actually touch _anything_ or _anyone_ ever—everyone knows. He just uses his saber to destroy things when he’s in a bad mood and he uses the Force for everything else—but Poe,” Finn leans towards him—and _Pfassk_ , but Poe can’t help but realize that Finn’s eyes are absolutely _perfect_ and _beautiful_ —and emphasizes, “he _carried_ Rey. It’s got to mean something.”

Poe snorts and shakes his head, attempting to dispel that disturbing image, before falling back onto his bed. “I just—I can’t stand _waiting_. I want to go to her and get her out of there _now_.”

“I know,” Finn replies sadly, “but it’s not going to happen right away. And we’ll get her out, I promise.”

It still doesn’t soothe his mind, but Poe nods nonetheless.

“I tried to make it stop, you know?” He says after a while, staring blankly at the ceiling. “The whole prostitution thing—when I found out Rey had been forced into it… I talked to the guys—the ones who don’t… _you know_ —got them to request her, so she could just…” He falls silent and swallows thickly. “It didn’t work. I think Jessika figured it out almost immediately—shut us down before we even got the chance to help her. So I just… I kept requesting her until they’d let me see her again.”

Poe startles a little when Finn drops his hand onto his thigh, and he feels his cheeks flush with an unexpected—and _unwanted_ —blush.

“I’m sure she knows,” Finn offers kindly. “I’m sure she knows what you tried to do for her. Hell, she nearly killed me when she thought I’d stolen your jacket—that girl doesn’t _hate_ you, Poe. And I don’t think she wants you to hate yourself for what happened either.”

“M—maybe,” Poe chokes a little, sitting up and subtly shifting away from Finn a little bit—he likes the former Stormtrooper, he _really_ does, but he honestly cannot let himself get distracted from rescuing Rey right now, and he’s sure that giving into the sparking chemistry between him and Finn will prove to be exactly that.

A distraction.

That, and he’s fairly certain the younger man has _no_ idea what kind of effect his casual and tactile gestures have on him. Finn seems fairly inexperienced when it comes to things like this, and Poe has zero desire to ruin a good friendship because of a one-sided crush.

Honestly, he’s not even sure Finn likes him like that at all.  

He’s not going to do anything to ruin their friendship.

He is keeping this strictly platonic.

.

.

.

**TWO WEEKS LATER**

Finn is trying to kill him.

Really, Poe groans internally, that is the _only_ explanation that makes _any_ sense whatsoever.

He’d thought, at first, that Finn was completely oblivious to what his casual touches invoked within the privacy of Poe’s—admittedly _very_ dirty—mind, but the touches are now so frequent and so _deliberate_ that he just… He can’t quite believe Finn doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Even now, as they’re standing around the map table, taking in the wireframe hologram of a rolling view of the surface of Starkiller Base, attending an emergency strategy mission, Finn is standing unnecessarily _close_ to Poe. He is practically plastered to Poe’s side, and Poe _knows_ other people are starting to notice; he’d already seen Princess Leia eye them suspiciously and Snap had winked at him.

He’d _winked_.

“The scan data from Snap’s reconnaissance report confirms Finn’s report,” he finally says, nodding towards both men. When General Solo had come to Finn to ask him for any and all information he could give them regarding the First Order and their weapons, Finn hadn’t hesitated to explain about the superweapon they had built; a project that had been years in the making, apparently.

“They’ve somehow managed to create a hyper lightspeed weapon within the planet itself.” Snap still sounds impressed and horrified at the same time, and Poe can’t blame him either—a weapon of this scale is both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

“A laser cannon?” Lieutenant Brance pipes up, his face scrunched into a mask of horrified confusion.

Poe glances over towards Snap and shrugs—if only it were as simple as that. “We’re not sure,” he begins, “how to describe a weapon of this scale.”

“Another Death Star then,” Leia sighs tiredly, rubbing her hand over her forehead before giving into Han’s insistent attempts to tuck her into his side.

Poe shakes his head and chews on his lower lip—because no matter how angry he is, Princess Leia has always been one of the people he’s looked up to, and he hates to see her look so _old_ and _tired_ —before gravely replying, “I wish that were the case, ma’am.”

He leans forward—and a little away from Finn’s comforting, but distracting, warmth—and hits a control, carefully studying everyone’s faces as a wireframe of the Death Star appears. “This was the Death Star,” he starts before hitting another control, watching as the wireframe shrinks further and further before the wireframe from Starkiller Base is drawn into a larger image, revealing the entire planetary base.

“This is Starkiller Base,” he finishes gravely, trying not to wince when Finn steps forward again, pressing their arms together.

“So,” General Solo recovers first, though Poe can tell he’s still shaken, “it’s _big_.”

Admiral Ackbar leans forward and, though Poe still holds a lot of animosity towards the admiral, he has to admit the man always has brilliant strategic insights—he hopes he has a few now. “How is it possible to power a weapon of this size?” He demands, studying the wireframe carefully.

“It uses the power of the sun, any sun,” Finn speaks up from beside him. “As the weapon’s charged, the sun is drained until it disappears.”

Poe manages not to visibly respond when Finn brushes his hand over his, and returns his attention to General Solo, who is glaring at the wireframe so intensely, Poe might almost assume he’s trying to telepathically destroy it.

“How do we blow it up?” Han finally speaks. “There’s always a way to do that.”

No one replies, and Poe bites his lip nervously, because he _knows_ general Solo is probably right, but he has _no idea_ where to start to blow something like this up. Poe also can’t help the flash of fear that darts through him; Rey is almost certainly on Starkiller and the thought of it blowing up with her trapped there… Finn had told him she’d either be on Starkiller or a ship called the _Finalizer_ , but it’s no use bringing up Rey at this meeting.

The Generals and Council had already made up their minds unequivocally on the subject.

Perhaps he can come up with some way of getting her out of there during the attack, he muses.

Finally, Admiral Statura leans forward and offers, “Well… In order for that amount of power to be contained, that base would need some kind of thermal oscillator.” Poe shakes himself out of his thoughts to pay attention to the matter at hand once again.

“There is one.” Finn leans forward and pushes Poe’s hand off the control before spinning it and punching in a random code. “There,” he zooms in on a large, black hexagonal structure. “Precinct 47.”

Statura steps forward and studies the wireframe of the oscillator. “If we can destroy that oscillator, it _might_ de-stabilize the core and cripple the weapon… Maybe even the planet.”

“So,” Poe says cheerily, in a desperate attempt to make everyone feel a little less hopeless, “we need a plan. We can’t just go in, guns blazing—we need a solid plan of attack before we hit that oscillator with everything we’ve got.”

Everyone just nods in agreement—finally a point they can all agree on—before admiral Ackbar speaks up again. “They have defensive shields that our ships can’t penetrate. If we can’t disable the shields, none of this will matter.” Everyone falls silent, and Poe can feel Finn fidget beside him—he assumes Finn feels a little uncomfortable because he can’t offer more help on the matter.

So, slowly, he moves his hand to cover Finn’s and gives it a short, hopefully reassuring squeeze before he returns his attention to the argument that is unfolding before them.

“Look,” Han interrupts, shaking his head. “Finn—can you disable the shields?”

Finn frowns and eyes the wireframe before he nods. “Yeah, I guess… But I’d have to be there, on the planet—”

“But you could do it?” Han interrupts, leaning forward eagerly—and Poe has a _really_ bad feeling about this—“If we got you onto that planet, you could disable the shields so we could get in?”

“Finn,” Poe says quietly—because he does _not_ like the idea of sending another person he cares about into the lion’s den.  He can’t stand the idea of losing Finn to the First Order as well. Finn offers him a timid, hesitant smile—and Poe _hates_ that smile, because he’s seen Finn’s real smile, and he _hates_ that the Resistance still thinks they can just order Finn around.

The only reason Finn’s even still here is because Poe asked him not to leave.

“I can do it,” Finn replies, never once taking his eyes off of Poe’s. “I can do it.”

A short, tense silence falls between those gathered in the room, before Poe tears his gaze from Finn and glances back towards the wireframe. “So we disable the shields,” he says slowly, “take out the oscillator, and blow up their big gun. Sounds like a plan.”

“We’ll commence planning the assault immediately,” Admiral Ackbar decides. “We should be fully prepared for the attack within a week.”

And with that, the meeting is concluded, and everyone files out of the room, the hologram shutting down—the room is suddenly _really_ quiet, and Poe flounders a little, unsure of what to do with himself now that everyone but him and Finn have left the room.

Poe suddenly realizes that Finn is staring at him and he feels his cheeks flush, wondering self-consciously if there is something on his face. "What are you looking at?" he asks somewhat nervously, rubbing a hand over his nose and cheeks quickly.

"You," Finn blurts, his already-dark skin darkening further when he realizes what he said. "I mean—"

Poe cuts in with a smirk before Finn can continue. "Well, in that case, I hope you enjoy the view."

Finn grins toothily and Poe is momentarily breathless— _holy kriff_ , he’s _so_ fucked—before he shoots back, “Well, I usually do.” The words hang heavily between them for a long moment—and Poe feels almost like his jaw has been unhinged and is hanging down nearly to the floor as he stares at Finn—before Finn, again, realizes what he’s said and flushes even deeper.

“I mean, I—well—it’s just—” Finn stutters, eyes wide and a little startled.

And Poe just… He can’t _stand_ Finn’s awkward stuttering, and Force, didn’t Finn just say what he’s been thinking about all along? He nearly lunges forward and curls his fingers around the back of Finn’s neck, smashing their lips together in a messy, breathless kiss.

It lasts less than thirty seconds, and really, Poe barely has the chance to relish in the feel of Finn’s deliciously soft lips on his before the latter has pulled away, his eyes wide and confused— _and_ _sithspit_.

“I thought,” Poe stammers, “I thought you wanted—”

Finn blinks at him, opening and closing his mouth several times before he actually manages to say something. “I didn’t—” he stutters, “I mean, I do—but…”

Poe watches as Finn shakes his head and turns away, and he wants to pretend that it doesn’t sting, but it _does_ , and he _hates_ that. “But what?” He asks, softly and quietly, taking care to ensure that his voice doesn’t sound too demanding.

“Rey,” Finn whispers when he turns back, and Poe is stunned by the look of agonized _guilt_ in Finn’s eyes. “You love her, right? I mean—you have to. Everything you’ve been trying to do, to get her back—so the two of you could be together, right?” Finn’s babbling at this point, and Poe is _staring_ , speechless as Finn continues. “I don’t want to be in the way of that.”

“Finn,” Poe breathes, taking another step forward, “I’m not—Rey means a lot to me, and, yeah, I want her back, but I’m not in _love_ with her. Never have been.” He watches as Finn stills, his eyes shining with something new—something hopeful—and he can’t help but smile a little. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I felt something like that for Rey.”

“I thought you were into girls,” Finn whispers unsteadily, taking a step towards Poe.

Poe smirks a little and leans in, his lips only a hair’s breadth from Finn’s, as he says, “I am. I also happen to be into guys—and specifically into this one guy.” He grins when Finn puts his hands on his hips and draws their bodies closer together.

“Yeah?” Finn breathes. “What’s so special about him?”

“Oh, you’d like him,” Poe smirks, bumping his nose against Finn’s playfully. “He saved my life. And he’s handsome and kind—”

“Poe?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

He does—and he really doesn’t want to _stop_ kissing Finn once he’s started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, here's a list of the seven other Knights of Ren and their respective species :D 
> 
> \- Lumiya Ren (Mirialan)  
> \- Jacen Ren (human)  
> \- Dota Ny Ren (Togruta)  
> \- Venamis Ren (human)  
> \- Bo-Ro-Tara Ren (Cerean)  
> \- Hoolidan Ren (Duros)  
> \- Aalad’zaja (Zaja) Ren (Twi’lek)


	8. Chapter VIII - Moraband

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the record, this chapter takes place during the third week after Rey has been kidnapped from Takodana. In the last chapter, with Finn and Poe, I mentioned that two weeks had passed, and that they needed another week to plan an assault on Starkiller Base. 
> 
> This chapter takes place during that week. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for the support and comments! You guys are amazing. 
> 
> Love, Annaelle
> 
> PS Thanks to Juulna (MeaghanM) for beta'ing and dragging me through the more difficult chapters :D You're the best, darling!
> 
> PPS I am taking requests for prompts in this universe--I'll be posting Deleted Scenes after I finish this part, and I can definitely look into scenes you guys would like to see too :-)

****

**Chapter VIII**

**Moraband**

**"There is scarcely any passion without struggle."**  
**—Albert Camus**

Rey does _not_ like Moraband at all.

Upon their arrival on the desolate planet and the ruins of what was once a Sith Academy—mere hours after Hux's public punishment and demotion—Kylo had shoved her into a darkened cave and told her to fight her way out; to prove she was worthy of being his Apprentice. She had wandered through the cave for hours, clutching the blaster pistol that Kylo had given her tightly, without meeting anyone or anything that would classify as moderately threatening, and she had just begun to wonder what Kylo expected her to find in here when the first one swooped down.

The winged _monster_ had managed to claw a large tear into her arm, and she had been blinded by the sudden pain for only a split-second—it had been long enough for the second _thing_ to knock her to the ground and send her blaster pistol skidding over the rocky floor, out of her reach.

She scarcely remembers the fight that ensued, only that there had been _many_ of the winged creatures, and that they all seemed under the distinct impression that killing her was the _perfect_ way to spend the day. She had, luckily, managed to wrap the Force around herself, like Kylo had explained, much like a security blanket while she searched for her pistol.

The winged monsters had _not_ , thank the Force, been immune to blaster bolts.

She had, also, finally experienced the kind of sheer _power_ that rage and fear could give her—and how intoxicating _using_ said power was. Using the Force, she'd been able to knock out most of the creatures that had attacked her, and she was able to shoot the others.

She'd not been prepared for the rush of _giddiness_ when she emerged from the caves, victorious and unharmed but for the deep scratch on her arm. Kylo had been waiting for her, his helmet lying in the dust by his feet, and an expression of something akin to pride on his face. His lips had been curled up into a small smile, and she had most definitely _not_ been prepared for the way her stomach clenched when she saw him.

After her stint in the caves of the Shyrack—which was what the monsters were called, apparently—Kylo had taken her to the Valley of the Dark Lords, where there had once been a Sith Academy. The Valley itself was a massive rift in an outcropping of stone, with steep and sheer stone walls and rocky mountain ledges.

The Academy itself, while dilapidated and clearly abandoned, was a pyramid-like structure at the rear of the valley, towering over the rest of the valley. It was constructed entirely out of stone and durasteel, and she remembers being completely dumbstruck by the way the sun's bright light was reflected and framed at the apex of the awe-inspiring building. Unfortunately, Kylo had not been in a mood to linger and stare, and had dragged her to the entrance, atop a wide staircase framed by two crumbling statues.

He had then pointed her towards the Sith Archives, where he expected her to study up on their history and delve into everything the scrolls, holocrons, holobooks and datapads could teach her about the Dark Side and its many uses.

And so, their real training had begun.

In the three weeks that had followed, their days had taken on a specific, predictable routine—one that she _had_ , rather reluctantly, grown fond of. She'd found that she quite likes living by a routine; enjoys the predictability, even; when it has nothing to do with sex and mandatory 'service' in exchange for food.

She wakes early, only an hour after the sun has risen, and spends the first three hours of her day in the Archives with her morning rations, reading and researching, before she joins Kylo for their noon meal. After that, they spend the afternoon meditating—she _attempts_ to, anyway—before they end their day with physical exercises and saber sequences.

There's a great many things they do in the evenings though, and it usually varies day by day.

Sometimes Rey will attempt to meditate on her own; sometimes she'll join Kylo for a drink in the room he had claimed as his and talk to him for hours about her life on Jakku and later the Resistance, and sometimes she reads until she is so tired that she can't see straight anymore.

One thing she has learned since their arrival on Moraband though is that Kylo, despite clearly enjoying her company when she does join him, does _not_ enjoy hearing too much about her time at the Resistance Base—it sends him into a near-uncontrollable rage every time—and much prefers it when she asks questions about the First Order and their vision for a unified and peaceful universe.

She's found he's _very_ passionate about that, too.

Observing him has also made her wonder— _a lot_ —about passion in general. It is something that is clearly important in former Sith and Dark Side training; it's even cited in the Code of the Sith in several of the scrolls and holobooks she's read so far.

" _Peace is a lie, there is only passion._  
Through passion, I gain strength.  
Through strength, I gain power.  
Through power, I gain victory.  
Through victory, my chains are broken.  
The Force shall free me."

It seems like something that is _so_ important to force-sensitives everywhere; even to people who _don't_ use the Force.

Even Poe had told her, once, of his first love—a passionate whirlwind romance if there ever was one. He'd been with the Resistance for less than a year when he'd met Malik, and from that point on it had taken them less than twenty-four hours to tumble into bed together. She'd never heard Poe talk about someone like that before, with a certain kind of twinkle in his eye that had almost made her feel jealous.

Not of Malik and the way he clearly still holds a special place in Poe's heart, but of the _way_ Poe spoke of their time together—there was a kind of passion in the memory that she still has not experienced herself. She is still worried about what that means for her future as an Apprentice of the Dark Side; does she not need to experience passion to gain more power and strength?

What if her lack of passion keeps her from ever reaching her full potential?

What if Kylo's faith in her runs out?

If there is another thing she's learned during her time on Moraband, it is that she should save these kinds of contemplations for her evening hours—she should most definitely _not_ be pondering on the matter while attempting to meditate.

The fact that meditation really isn't for her has little to do with it, she knows.

Her mind tends to drift when she is forced to sit still for long periods of time, and despite her best efforts, she has not been able to sink into the deeper meditational trance which Kylo had described.

Even now, her mind wanders from passion—or her lack thereof—to her silent, brooding, _handsome_ Master. She has found, over the past few weeks, that she is acutely aware of how _handsome_ her Master is, and it makes her wonder about his personal life—one she is not even sure he really has.

"Clear your mind, Rey," Kylo tells her reproachfully, clearly having picked up on her wandering attention.

She forces her breathing to remain even, refusing to sigh in exasperation at her millionth failed attempt to enter into meditation—he had offered to try something called _shared_ meditation, but the description he had given her had sounded terrifyingly _intimate_ , requiring them to practically meld their minds together to achieve the trance, and the thought of having him in her head, catching glimpses of her _very_ inappropriate and conflicting thoughts towards him makes her feel slightly queasy.

"Yes, Master," she replies evenly, keeping her eyes shut, "I _am_ trying."

"Try _harder_ ," he orders her through clearly clenched teeth—and she doesn't even have to look at him to know he is on the verge of another temper tantrum. The first time he had lost his temper in front of her was the first time she had felt genuinely _afraid_ of him—but she has quickly come to recognize those moments as nothing more than an outlet for his apparently _overwhelming_ emotions.

"I _can't_ ," she grouses, clenching her hands into fists where they rest on her knees.

She hears him heave a sigh before his hand suddenly lands on her shoulder, and she jumps violently, snapping her eyes open to glare at him. He does this, sometimes, and she absolutely _hates_ being surprised like that. She doesn't like to be touched as it is, and she has noticed he seems somewhat reluctant to initiate any kind of physical contact too, but he does startle her out of meditation all the time.

"Perhaps it is time we move onto your lightsaber sequences," he tells her, not unkindly. "Get your training saber and get ready."

She stares at him for a long, tense moment before she manages to conceal her surprise and nods. "Yes, Master," she replies, scrambling to her feet and crossing the room to the slim, tall wooden cupboard where they keep their training sabers.

She vividly remembers the first time they had trained using the sabers—it had been the closest thing to an actual lightsaber she had ever held, and she had been positively _giddy_ with anticipation and _pride_ —and the memory fills her with both amusement and shame. She had been a bit overzealous and neglected to heed Kylo's warning that a single hit with the training saber would temporarily paralyze the area she got hit in.

Within the first three minutes of their duel, he had managed to paralyze her left arm and both legs.

She wrinkles her nose in distaste at her own earlier haughtiness and retrieves both Kylo's and her training sabers, eyeing the durasteel blades with admiration. It is a stellar piece of technology, and if Kylo would have let her, she would most definitely have taken them apart to see how they worked; she knows about the toxin-filled barbs—Kylo told her—but there has to be more to it.

"Rey," he speaks from behind her, "is there something wrong?"

She quickly shakes her head to clear it from any and all distractions before turning back to Kylo, clutching her saber in her left hand and his in her right hand. She bows her head and offers him the training saber, keeping her eyes on the floor as she does so; the way he stands on ceremony even though there is no one here but them irritates her and grates on her nerves, but she knows it is necessary to know these things, even if she does not like them.

He had explained to her, at length, how her behaviour as his Apprentice would reflect on him and his Knights, and she has to admit that it does make sense.

He takes the saber from her hand, and she takes his continued silence as permission to proceed with their usual exercises. She straightens and nods towards her Master before flowing from move to move fluidly, finding a kind of peace and tranquillity in the predictability of her sequences that she could never find in meditation.

"Faster," Kylo orders, his voice shattering through the ferocious haze she had worked herself into.

She grits her teeth in annoyance, but does as he tells her, and speeds up as she goes through the sequences again. She loses count of how many times Kylo tells her to repeat the sequences, going a little faster each time, but she doesn't complain, even when the muscles in her arms and torso begin to burn.

"Enough."

She spins into the final turn and eases into a stop, holding her tense stance for a long moment before she lowers her training saber and turns to face Kylo again.

He has taken to not wearing his mask here on Moraband, and though she enjoys being able to read his expression he is also infuriatingly good at masking his emotions and keeping a straight face. "You did well," he tells her—and stang him, would it kill him to show a little bit of pride or approval? "Soon, you will be good enough to add new sequences."

She bites her lip to hide her grin and bows her head. "Thank you, Master."

"Now," he tells her. "We will spar—try to last longer than ten minutes this time."

She fumes a little at that dig—he has _years_ of experience with this kind of thing, of course he's better at it than she is—but doesn't say anything. Instead she focuses the raw energy and strength that that anger provides her with as she raises her saber.

Kylo does the same, facing off across from her, his saber held loosely as he waits for her to make the first move, as he always does. There is, as usual, a little voice in the back of her head that tries to undermine her—tries to convince her that she will never be able to beat Kylo in a fight.

She refuses to let that little voice rattle her though, and springs towards him, slashing the saber towards his unprotected ribs, hoping to catch him by surprise—but it is exceptionally hard to actually catch him by surprise. Not only does he seem to anticipate every move she makes before she's even decided she's going to make it, but he's _fast_.

He halts her attack with ease, parrying her move with one of his own—one that she barely manages to avoid. She pays little attention to it, and keeps her eyes solely trained on him. They've been training together for several hours a day, every day, for three weeks—he may have taught her everything she knows, but she knows him as well.

All she needs to do is learn to anticipate him the same way he seems to be anticipating her—using a mix of the Force and his personal knowledge of the way she had been trained.

She reaches out for the Force and revels in the way it flows around and through her and Kylo—and suddenly she _understands_. The new knowledge and her use of it makes the fight tricky, and she can tell he is surprised by her sudden turn-around, and she surprises herself with how well-matched her using the Force to fight him makes them.

But, despite her improvements to her technique, she quickly begins to tire. Her heart thumps heavily in her chest, and sweat coats her skin, and her limbs grow more tired with every move she makes—Kylo senses this and moves in, pushing forth with the full force of his—admittedly, rather large and muscled—body.

She stumbles at the impact, and he takes advantage of that, tackling her to the floor. The wind is knocked from her lungs at the impact of her body slamming against the floor, and her training saber scatters away. She barely has the chance to take a breath and regain her bearings when Kylo crashes into her again, pinning her to the floor with his entire body.

"Fight, Rey," he whispers, his breath warm against her ear. "Show me how you can get out of this situation without weapons."

Her heartbeat is loud in her own ears, and her chest is heaving, brushing against his chest with every breath she takes, and the way his body is pressed against hers is… She doesn't have a word for what it feels like, but it is _frightening_ and _delightful_ and she—she can't _breathe._

The air between them is warm and heady, and though a little voice in her head tells her it would be okay to lean up and kiss him—just to distract him, of course—she cannot bring herself to do it.

She cannot bring herself to move _at all_.

Suddenly his warm body pressed along hers isn't comforting but stifling and _too much_ , _too familiar_ , and she struggles fruitlessly against him, gasping for breath that never seems to make it to her lungs, desperately hoping that the tears that are burning in her eyes won't roll down her cheeks—she doesn't want to be seen as _weak_ anymore, she doesn't want to give Hux or _any_ of them power over her life anymore, but she can't help it.

"Let me go," she gasps, "Kylo, get off me—I need—please—I need—"

She sees the moment he realizes what is happening, and she can see the horror in his eyes—and she can't _stand_ it. He rolls off of her, and offers her his hand to help her up, but all she can do is scurry _away_ —away from Kylo and his all-too-knowing gaze—away from the memories and the embarrassment—just _away_.

She ignores Kylo as he calls after her and storms out of the practice area, wiping at her eyes furiously.

She will _not_ be weak.

.

.

.

The lower levels of what was once a great Sith Academy are now permanently shrouded in darkness and silence. Rey realizes that wandering through abandoned and dilapidated dormitories, conference rooms, empty chambers with no obvious purpose, and even ritual chambers might be frightening to other people, but she finds a strange kind of comfort in the solitude it provides.

She is hardly put off by the occasional body she encounters down here—on Jakku, she had quickly become desensitised to seeing death—and she revels in exploring the many chambers and tunnels beneath the Academy. She _loves_ imagining what these halls may have looked like when there were hundreds of students and acolytes—when this place had been glorious and _new_.

She _likes_ exploring the way she feels more _connected_ to the Force here.

She feels _safe_ down here.

She supposes she should not have been surprised that her feet led her down wide, spiralling staircases and slim, rickety wooden steps until she stands, once again, in the dormitories after running from Kylo and his suddenly stifling presence. The Force is nearly tangible down here, and she likes that she can almost _touch_ it—it gives her strength like nothing else ever has, and she is loath to think of the day she and Kylo will have to leave this place and its uncanny connection to the Force.

She's aware she has been down in the Academy's bowels for hours now, but the only indication of passing time has been her stomach—it's been growling and churning for an hour now, reminding her that she has yet to eat properly today.

With a resigned sigh, she wipes off some of the dust and dirt that had gathered on her clothes and climbs the creaky wooden steps that lead her to the first lower level, where the generic chambers and dormitories are situated. The level is not as large and widespread as the ones that lie even deeper beneath the old Academy, but she had found a nice little collection of treasures down here. A few scrolls on meditation and levitation, a bracelet that was made out of some kind of soft metal she had never seen before and something that looked like the beginnings of a lightsaber hilt.

She does not linger in the dormitories this time and proceeds to climb the large spiralling staircase that leads to the large entrance hall. She briefly wonders if she could get away with eating by herself in her small room, but quickly discards that thought—avoiding her Master will not make facing him any less awkward later on.

And, much as she is loath to admit it, she does enjoy his company and conversation when he is not being an insufferable, arrogant _prat._

She sets off towards his chambers with an annoyed huff, pondering on how she could avoid talking about how she freaked out when he had tried to teach her more about self-defence and fighting. She has had a lot of time to reflect while she strolled down the dusty halls below the Academy, and she realizes that she had completely overreacted to what was no more than a teaching situation—and what was worse, she had run away from Kylo.

She had not explained what had happened and, though she is certain he _knows_ , she feels slightly ashamed of her own erratic behaviour.

She reaches the double doors that lead to his chambers, and lets her hand hover over the panel for a long moment before she enters the code and opens the door with a hiss. "Master?" She calls tentatively as she enters the chamber, unsure of what emotional state he would be in—she has long since learned that it is best to leave him to his devices when he is feeling particularly emotional in any way.

"Rey."

She jumps and turns, surprised to find him standing in the doorway that leads to the bedchamber and the 'fresher, looking far less put together than she has ever seen him look before. He is wearing simple, soft lounge pants and a black shirt that does delightful things for his muscular form, and his hair is damp and adorably curled around his ears.

"I apologize," she offers, bowing her head so that he will not notice the way her cheeks flamed at the sight of him. "I did not mean to—"

"No," he interrupts, padding forward, his bare feet making odd slapping sounds against the cool, stone floor. "No, do not apologize. You did nothing wrong—I am sorry I put you in that position to begin with. Forgive me, Rey. I did not think."

His apology resonates within her mind, and she can tell he's attempting to communicate his genuine regret for causing her distress through the Force as well, but it rubs her the wrong way because _he shouldn't be apologizing_.

"Don't apologize," she spits at him, steadily ignoring that her eyes are, yet again, burning with tears. "You've done nothing wrong. You were doing what you promised me, and _I_ took it the wrong way. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again. Can we please leave it at that and not discuss the matter any further?"

His eyes are dark and his expression is twisted into a mask of concern and regret before it shutters and she can't read him at all anymore. "Of course," he nods. "Shall we have dinner?"

She nods in silence before following him into the adjacent room, where he has two comfortable chairs set up next to a small table. Two plates have been filled with steaming vegetables and a slice of deep purple meat that she's never seen or tasted before.

She hardly cares what it is, though—she's hungry enough to eat _him_.

"Sit," he orders her. "Eat."

Normally it irks her when he speaks to her like this, but she is too tired and too worn down to argue with him, and simply curls up in her designated chair before attacking the food on her plate—and she swears, nothing has ever tasted this good before.

They eat in silence for a while, but where the silence is usually comfortable and companionable, all Rey feels now is awkwardness—and she hates that.

"Where did you go?" He finally asks after setting down his cutlery, his eyes dark and hooded as he studies her. "I could barely sense you—it was… _disconcerting_ , to say the least."

She stares at him in confusion, setting down her own utensils before leaning back in her seat. "I didn't really go anywhere," she replies honestly. "I was in the lower levels—near the dormitories and the old ritual chambers. I didn't—I wasn't trying to hide myself… I don't know why—"

"Those chambers are dangerous," he cuts her off, leaning forward in his seat. "Dark Force spirits linger in those tunnels—the Force is stronger down there, but so are those that linger. If they are what mask your presence from me when you are down there, I may not be able to get to you in time when you need help. Be careful."

She wants to refute his statement, wants to tell him that she feels _safe_ down in the tunnels, safer than she's ever felt before in her entire life—but then she recalls the barely-there whispers.

The ghost of a touch that she had sworn she'd imagined.

"Okay," she nods slowly, "I'll be careful."

He nods, a satisfied smile turning the corner of his lips up, before he frowns again, never once moving his eyes away from hers. "You are unhappy," he observes, and she doesn't need to use the Force to know he is confused—it is written plainly all over his face. "Why?"

She wrinkles her nose—sometimes the way he is able to read her is _really_ annoying—and sighs. She unties the three buns in her hair and shakes it out, running her fingers through it as she attempts to find a way to explain the way exploring the tunnels had made her feel that will make sense to him too. She realizes that sometimes the way she thinks is difficult to understand for others, and she doesn't want to create any misunderstandings between her and Kylo.

"I liked the tunnels and dormitories and chambers," she finally shrugs. "I liked being the first to walk through those halls in _years_ , if not centuries. It's dark and damp and infested with parasites and bugs, and there are dead bodies down there, but…" She falls silent and leans her chin on her hand, switching her gaze from Kylo to her plate and the half-finished pile of vegetables on it.

"It made me feel _safe_ ," she admits. "I'd never felt that safe before—and the Force was _so_ tangible…" She trails off again and sighs. "I know it probably doesn't make much sense, but—"

He cuts her off when he shakes his head and holds up his hand. "I understand," he tells her. "I was much the same when I was younger. My father—" He falls silent abruptly, and she is both insatiably curious and fascinated by the various emotions that flicker across his usually stoic face.

This is the first time he's spoken of a life before he wore the mask, and she desperately hopes he'll say more.

"Suffice to say he was not the best parent," Kylo grouses eventually. "Even before I was sent away to be trained by my uncle, he had little time for me and my mother."

She is captivated by his tale; by the way his fingers tighten around his spoon as he speaks, by the muscles that thicken in his jaw as he speaks of his father, by _him_.

She realizes she should be more attentive to his words, but she is easily distracted by the glint in his eye that speaks of good and bad memories alike, and the way his lips curl around the words as he tells her how he can only recall one instance in which his father showed actual interest in him, when he tried to show him how to fly the Falcon with uncle Chew—

"The _Millenium Falcon_?" She blurts out when he falls silent, a soft blush rising to her cheeks when he stares at her in apparent horror. "Han Solo's ship," she continues, eyes wide with disbelief. "Ben Solo. Han and Leia's lost son," she whispers, staring at her Master with both horror and confusion. "They… Everyone thinks you died at Luke Skywalker's school when that… that student turned against them and killed— _oh_."

She trails off and glowers at her plate, somewhat startled by the sudden burn of tears in her eyes.

"Ben Solo did die that day," he finally speaks, his voice taut and gruff, after a long, _long_ silence. "You'd do well to remember that."

She nods shakily before turning to her plate and picking up her fork, awkwardly stabbing at one of the yellow vegetables and shoving it into her mouth. She's at a loss of what to say or do after Kylo's accidental revelation, and she's not sure what to make of him now that she knows these things either.

It's not like she hadn't been aware he'd killed before—he would have killed Hux if she hadn't stopped him—and she's well aware he is not always a very good person, but…

She had seen so much of the grief and sorrow that had been caused by the loss of all of Luke Skywalker's students… It feels so much more real because she _knows_ the people that suffered at his hand.

Some of them _intimately_.

His father was one of those men, and for all his faults, she'd never once believed that Han Solo was a bad person or a bad man.

She doesn't want to doubt her Master—he has been nothing but kind to her and protective of her since the day they met—but she honestly doesn't understand _why_ he would have turned against his family. Why he would have chosen to destroy so many of the Resistance's families when he killed their Force-sensitive children as he betrayed Luke Skywalker?

She just… She wants to _understand_.

"Can I ask you something?" She asks timidly, chewing on her lower lip as she glances towards him from beneath her eyelashes.

"You may _ask_ ," he concedes after a brief pause.

"Is that why you still search for Luke Skywalker?" She bites her lip when he looks up sharply, his eyes dark and intense as he studies her. "I heard you talk about it," she offers. "Back on Starkiller Base—it's what BB-8 had, right? Part of the map?"

"Yes," he replies carefully. "Fortunately, while losing the droid was a set-back, we learned through several intelligence sources that the Resistance is no closer to finding Skywalker than we are. If they were, neither one of us would stand a chance against him. He is a powerful Jedi, and he has had more than a decade since I destroyed the school to hone his skills even further."

Rey blanches at that little piece of information and swallows thickly, refusing to acknowledge the fact that even thinking about losing Kylo now would destroy her in a way she's too afraid to name. Her feelings towards him had been confusing and conflicting even before his revelation of his true identity, but now… Now she _really_ has no idea how to classify the way his presence affects her.

It is similar to what she used to feel when she saw Poe, knowing she'd be spending the night with him again, but it is far _more_ intense and far _less_ fearful and reluctant.

"Why did you do it?" She whispers, afraid to name all of the things that are swirling through her mind.

He is silent for a long time—so long that she begins to think he won't answer her at all—before he whispers, "I had no choice. Snoke said—and… They were… They kill people, Rey. Innocents that never stood a chance—young girls, like you, that will never receive justice if they win this war. I knew that even as a teenager. I refuse to support people like that… Or to just ignore it, like Luke Skywalker did. They needed to _pay_ for what they'd done. I made sure they paid for their crime when I destroyed the school."

He shakes his head and her heart squeezes painfully at the raw emotion in his voice—and she _knows_ there is still more to it than what he is telling her. "It is late," he rasps finally, getting to his feet awkwardly. "Go get some sleep." With that, he turns and stomps out of the room, leaving her to her thoughts and her half-finished plate of food.

Rey heaves a deep sigh and leans back in the comfortable chair, closing her eyes briefly.

She supposes that could have gone worse.

She finishes her food, deliberately choosing not to think about anything even remotely related to Kylo Ren or the Resistance, and returns to her room, hoping that sleep won't evade her like it usually does when she has this much to think about.

Luckily, her head has barely touched the pillow before she falls asleep.

She feels like she has only just fallen asleep when Kylo suddenly storms into her room—which is, incidentally, much smaller than his, thus making it seem like he takes up the entire space—and tosses a duffel bag onto her bed. "Get dressed and pack," he orders, his expression cold and closed-off. "We are leaving for Starkiller Base right away."

"What?" She mumbles sleepily, rubbing her knuckles over her eyelids. "What is going on, Master?"

He pauses in her doorway, shooting her a glance over his shoulder as he replies. "The Resistance is planning an attack on Starkiller within the next three days. Our assistance is required. We are leaving in one hour. Get your things together now."

He leaves, and she is left staring at the durasteel door in disbelief.

What the Pfassk is going on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, here's a list of the seven other Knights of Ren and their respective species :D
> 
> \- Lumiya Ren (Mirialan)  
> \- Jacen Ren (human)  
> \- Dota Ny Ren (Togruta)  
> \- Venamis Ren (human)  
> \- Bo-Ro-Tara Ren (Cerean)  
> \- Hoolidan Ren (Duros)  
> \- Aalad'zaja (Zaja) Ren (Twi'lek)


	9. Chapter IX - Starkiller Base

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II for this story has been outlined, and I will begin writing it shortly.  
> The first chapter will be uploaded in a few weeks, I think, depending on how quickly I manage to get the chapters written and edited. I'll not be updating until the majority of the story is written, in any case.
> 
> I will be uploading another story that will contain deleted scenes from PI and its sequels-I'll upload the first chapter of that story next Friday, after PI's final chapter has been uploaded. The first chapter will be Rey's first night with Poe-the story will, therefore, be rated E.
> 
> Also, I'll take requests; any scene you're really curious about, let me know, and I'll see what I can do :D
> 
> Thank you to everyone for the support and comments! You guys are amazing.
> 
> Love, Annaelle
> 
> PS Thanks to Juulna (MeaghanM) for beta'ing and dragging me through the more difficult chapters :D You're the best, darling!

# Chapter IX  
Starkiller Base

## “Those who do not move, do not notice their chains.”  
—Rosa Luxemburg

Kylo Ren finds that he much prefers the serene solitude of Moraband to the crowded beehive of activity that is Starkiller Base. They have not even landed on the Base yet and he can already sense that whatever peace he had found during his lessons with Rey will be gone the moment they touch down. It infuriates and frustrates him.

He glares at Starkiller Base as it comes into view, and winces when he immediately feels an intense pressure on his mind—a persistent tug that will soon evolve into crippling pain if left unanswered.

“The Supreme Leader is calling for me,” he tells Rey, reaching for his mask and tugging it on. “Once we land, I will be expected to go to him immediately. You will return your belongings to your quarters, and drop mine in my chambers—your fingerprints should let you into my private quarters. After, I expect you to go to the training facilities for the Knights of Ren and train with the recruits. Focus on sparring and your sequences.”

He’s briefly overwhelmed by a flash of annoyance—that almost certainly originated in his little scavenger’s mind—before she shuts him out again and nods tersely. “Yes, Master,” she replies, not once taking her eyes from the control panels before her.

He nearly chuckles—she amuses him greatly when she is torn between wanting to slap him and wanting to respect him—but manages to quell the urge and fastens the clasp on the back of his mask.

Rey has, in the weeks they had spent on Moraband, grown immensely—both in strength and maturity.

No longer does she challenge him on every order he gives her, and no longer does she fight him every step of the way. Something in her mind has shifted during the time they had spent in solitude, and he can only applaud whatever it was.

He is certain the Supreme Leader will approve of her learning curve, and he is hopeful to earn his own Master’s approval—if he succeeds in training Rey, Kylo is almost certain Snoke will allow him to take the trials to finish his own training as well.

He does wonder, worriedly, what the Supreme Leader will say of the fledgling Force-bond that has developed between him and Rey on Moraband. It had been rather unexpected—one he had not foreseen at all, though he supposes he should have been prepared for the eventuality. Force-bonds, while rare, have been known to form between Masters and their Padawans.

He has already meditated on the matter, to determine when the Bond took root within their minds, and has found that the first seed was planted when he—accidentally—opened her mind to the Force. The time he has spent training with her on Moraband has only furthered the connection, and while he fears the Supreme Leader may see it as a weakness, he is certain that it will prove to be an immeasurable asset.

It will undoubtedly help Rey grow stronger much faster, and it will keep her safe in battle as well. She will be able to draw upon his experience and knowledge, and he _knows_ that that will likely save both of their lives one day.

Of course, he _is_ concerned about the things she may see in his mind, one day—but fortunately he has years left to prepare for that eventuality. Their Bond is still very much in its infantile stages, and it will take many years to develop into the kind of Bond where she would be able to see into his mind without him being able to shield his thoughts from her.

His mind quietens slightly when Rey lands their battered old C-wing on the landing platform.

He finds himself unable to move for a long moment, and he senses that Rey is reluctant to stand up and break the peaceful sphere they had created for themselves as well. “Be safe,” he tells her stiffly, quite uncomfortable to be exposing his worry for her safety to her. “Call for me if anyone causes you any sort of trouble or discomfort.”

She studies him carefully, and he has to consciously stop himself from fidgeting beneath her scrutiny. “I will,” she finally replies, a soft smile tugging up the corners of her lips.

He nods tersely, wilfully ignoring his bodily and emotional response to his Apprentice’s kind smile, before standing and exiting the shuttle as fast as he can without making a fool of himself. He finds he’s allowed himself to grow far too fond of Rey already, and that he tends to share things with her that he shares with no one else—things he never meant to share with anyone else.

He has not forgotten his foolish slip-up when he mentioned his father’s ship—nor has he quite recovered from the way it had _hurt_ to see the horror and disgust in her eyes when she realized his true name and heritage.

He has not asked her much of her time in the Resistance, and the men she had been forced to bed—but he has a terrible feeling that his father is one of the men, despite the fact that Kylo _knows_ his father hadn’t touched one of the other girls in decades.

Not since Ben Solo had become Kylo Ren.

He had been careful to have their spies in the Resistance keep an eye on his parents, and for a long time, it had looked like his parents, at least, had learned their lesson after his so-called betrayal.

He hates to think that he may have been wrong after all—hates to think that losing their son had not shown his parents the error of their ways—hates to think that they will likely never change.

He is silently pleased that he is wearing his mask as he stalks past several squadrons of Stormtroopers that all stare at him as he stomps past them—he is not entirely certain he would be able to control his facial expression today, after several weeks of simply _being_. He had been unworried and comfortable on Moraband, well aware of the fact that his Apprentice would never judge him for losing his temper—she had developed quite a temper of her own, though her tantrums resulted in far less material damage and far more icy silences.

He stalks through the long hallway that leads to Snoke’s throne room, deliberately ridding his mind of any and all _fond_ memories of evenings spent talking and bantering with Rey. Kylo has been the Supreme Leader’s Apprentice long enough to know that the man tolerates little in terms of affection, and if he, even for a second, suspected that Kylo’s loyalty may not be fully his anymore, Kylo has no doubt that he would do whatever he could to dispose of the distraction.

Fortunately, Kylo has also become rather adept at hiding certain things from his Master.

He knows how to compartmentalize his thoughts and memories in such a way that the Supreme Leader will never know unless Kylo willingly shows him the memories.

His mind is therefore blissfully blank as he enters Snoke’s dark, spacious chambers, and he feels little but carefully controlled anger and sadness, both ready to be used as fuel for his powers if needed. He is unsure what to expect of the Supreme Leader today—he is, honestly, not entirely sure what Snoke expects of him during a Resistance attack.

He sincerely doubts there is much he and Rey could do in an attack that the thousands of Stormtroopers could not—after all, no matter how powerful, he is only one man, and Rey is only one barely-trained girl. Even with all of his Knights, Kylo would not be much of an addition to a legion of Stormtroopers, and he is well aware of this fact.

“Kylo Ren.” Snoke’s deep voice echoes through the large, empty room, reverberating in his bones as he sinks into a reverent bow before his Master. “You returned faster than I thought you would. Your promptness will be remembered.”

“You spoke of an impending attack,” Kylo speaks evenly. “My Apprentice and I rushed back as soon as we could to stand at your side, as you commanded.” He senses Snoke’s acceptance of his words in his mind, and silently rises to his feet again, clasping his hands behind his back as he stands before his Master.

“Have your Knights made progress in the search for the map to Skywalker?” Snoke thunders, ringing loudly in Kylo’s ears—and he wishes he had more positive news to report. Even their spies in the Resistance have yet to catch a glance of the map, despite Bo Ro Tara’s persuasive talents.

“No, Master,” he replies, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach as he speaks. “Fortunately, the Resistance has not made any further progress in locating the rest of the map either.”

He can feel his Master’s disapproval and anger radiating from him, even through the hologram.

“Your continuous failure is most disappointing, Kylo Ren,” Snoke hisses, and Kylo bites his lower lip in an attempt to hide his flinch when Snoke purposefully pushes a wave of near-crippling pain through his mind. “Tell me your failure does not extend to your delightful Apprentice,” Snoke continues. “I sensed her immense potential when she spared Hux’s life so as to prolong his suffering.”

Kylo is surprised by the sudden flare of possessiveness that surges through him at the mention of his young Apprentice, and he is certain Snoke sensed it as well. “She is strong, Master,” he speaks proudly. “I have taught her sequences from several lightsaber forms, and she has taken to them like a fish to water. I believe you will be pleased with her progress.”

He waits with bated breath as Snoke considers his words, and dares not show his relief—and _dread_ —when Snoke announces, “Bring her to me at dawn tomorrow. I will inspect her mind myself.”

Kylo swallows thickly before bowing his head in submission. “Of course, Master.”

Before he or Supreme Leader Snoke can speak again, the doors swing open, and Kylo is absolutely _stunned_ to recognize the shorter man’s distinctive Force signature. He whirls around to stare at Hux— _Colonel_ Hux—who looks as healthy as he ever has.

His blood _boils_ when he realizes the man must have received _excellent_ medical care, and the demotion hardly deserves that name—a single rank is _not_ an appropriate punishment, in Kylo’s eyes. Of course, if he had been the one to execute Hux’s punishment, the man would not have survived in the first place—but he hadn’t been able to deny the brilliance in Rey’s plan.

It seems, however, that Hux had not even been imprisoned for his crimes.

He wonders _why_ Snoke would allow a rapist to maintain such a high rank within the Order he created to flush out pathetic men that enjoy forcing themselves on innocent girls.

He wants to question Hux’s presence, and wants to toss him against the wall until his skull splits open and leave him to _die_ like the maggot he is. Before he can, however, Snoke speaks, his voice thunderous and strong—in a tone that brokers no argument.

“Colonel Hux. What news do you have for me?”

“Our spies in the Resistance have confirmed an attack on Starkiller Base is planned within the next forty-eight hours,” Hux replies, coming to a slow stop beside Kylo.

Hux’s mind is practically _screaming_ his hatred at Kylo, and he has to consciously stop himself from reaching out and strangling the horrible man with his bare hands. He is thinking _vile_ things about Rey, and Kylo is worried about the barely-subdued rage in the man’s mind. He can scarcely believe Snoke has not picked up on the animosity in Hux’s mind—much less that he has allowed the man to walk about the Base freely.

“Then they must be destroyed before they can execute the attack,” Snoke says decisively. 

“We have their location. We tracked their reconnaissance ship to the Ileenium system,” Hux states pompously, and Kylo wants to _crush_ him like the filthy maggot he is.  

Snoke nods in approval, and a certain part in the back of Kylo’s mind marvels at the fact that he is not at all repelled by the idea of his own flesh-and-blood being destroyed in said attack—in fact, he is far more nauseated and horrified at the inevitable prospect of having to feel an entire star system filled with people die _again_ , before he pulls himself together and listens to his Master’s strong voice.

“Good. Then we will crush them once and for all. Prepare the weapon.”

“Master,” Kylo steps forward again, eyes downcast as he attempts to formulate his next question respectfully. “Poe Dameron is almost certainly still on the Resistance Base. What of our promise to not harm the man? How will I keep my pledge to my Apprentice if we destroy the entire system?”

Snoke sneers at him, and Kylo barely resists the urge to flinch away from his Master. “Surely she has gotten over her foolish attachment to the filthy pilot that violated her. If not, I suggest you recondition her mind and tie her loyalty only to _me_. Do _not_ disappoint me again, Kylo Ren.” Kylo winces at the thinly veiled threat, but manages to compose himself.

The command to tie Rey’s loyalty to _Snoke_ rubs him the wrong way, sickens him even, and he does not wish to admit it to the Supreme Leader, but he views Rey as _his_. He cannot _stand_ the idea of allowing Snoke to corrupt her mind as Kylo knows he once did his.

He’d rather have Rey’s loyalty tied to him than to anyone else.

Unfortunately, this is not a concern he can verbalize in present company, and this knowledge only infuriates him further. “As you command, Master,” he replies curtly, before turning on his heel and leaving the room, barely concealing the uncontrolled rage that simmers beneath the surface—his mood had been _terrible_ to begin with, and he cannot quite deal with seeing the man that had harmed _his_ Apprentice walking about freely.

And now he has to break the first promise he had ever made to her.

He does _not_ like thinking of it, but Snoke forcing his hand into breaking a promise does make him wonder how many other promises the man will be willing to forsake in the name of the greater good, especially after witnessing the leniency Snoke had obviously granted Hux.

For the first time in years, he wonders if he has placed his faith and life in the right man’s hands.

It is a disconcerting thought, and it only serves to enrage him further. 

He stalks past numerous squadrons of Stormtroopers—most of which cower against the walls when he passes them—and a handful of officers, determined to get to his chambers and to _let it out_. His emotions have always been exceedingly difficult to control, and it has only become more difficult to do so as the years passed and as his strength in the Dark Side grew.

He feels much like the Force itself is crawling beneath his skin, itching and _screaming_ to be freed and let out, before he bursts—Snoke had once told him that his moods were not at all unlike the unstable volcanoes on Mustafar. Unstable and prone to untimely and destructive outbursts, welling up from a deep, limitless reservoir hidden in the dark recesses of his mind—it is a description he has lived with for many years, and one he fears he will never be able to shake.

He is unsurprised to feel Rey’s presence in his chambers when he enters them—feels _comforted_ by her familiar Force signature, even—and wonders briefly if she will be insulted if he simply starts tossing things around without speaking to her first.

She gives him no chance to do anything like that, however, and starts babbling the moment he comes into view. She is curled up on the sofa—one of the only physical comforts he has allowed himself—with a cup of hot caf, her cloak and blaster in an untidy heap on the floor before her. He wonders vaguely if telling her she could come into his chambers had been a good idea, before he shakes the thought and attempts to focus on his little chatterbox of an Apprentice.

The realization that the desire to throw a tantrum had all but disappeared when he saw Rey vanishes instantly, too.

“…and then Zaja and Venamis showed me how to use a bowcaster! It’s _insanely_ powerful—I nearly fell over when I first shot it, but Venamis told me that’s normal, because I’m not used to the backlash just yet. Oh, and then I sparred with Jacen and Bo-Ro-Tara for a while, and they’re _so_ fast! I don’t think I’ll ever be able to defeat someone that fast, but I know I have to—”

“Rey,” he interrupts, doing his best not to sound exasperated as he removes his mask. “Slow down.”

She stops talking abruptly, and her cheeks are stained with a lovely rosy color as she looks up at him. “I apologize, Master,” she says bashfully, biting down on her full lower lip—he needs to force himself to not respond to the tantalizing sight. “I didn’t mean to speak so candidly. I hope I did not offend you.”

“Think nothing of it,” he tells her tiredly as he sits down on the sofa beside her, taking care to push away any and all treacherous thoughts that give him reason to doubt the Supreme Leader and his wisdom. Kylo _knows_ that difficult choices have to be made at times, in order to succeed, and he has no doubt that ordering the attack on the Ileenium system is one of those choices.

His Master would not senselessly kill thousands, if not millions, of people.

“What’s wrong?” Rey’s soft question snaps him from his thoughts, and he glowers at her, feeling somewhat irritated with himself for allowing some of his frustration and anger to bleed through his Bond with Rey.

“Nothing that should concern you,” he snaps, refusing to acknowledge his own stricken response as she flinches away from him—his attachment to Rey is already jeopardizing his good standing with Supreme Leader Snoke, and it has caused him to doubt his Master, the man who had taken him in and cared for him, trained him and helped him become stronger, as well.

He is extremely uncomfortable with the instability that his foolish attachment is causing him, after _years_ of dedicating his life to the Order. After _years_ of knowing right from wrong in his world, Rey came in and destroyed everything he thought he knew.

He does not, however, enjoy the feeling of _hurt_ that radiates from her. “I’m sorry,” he sighs gruffly. “I did not mean to snap at you.”

She says nothing in reply, her lower lip pushed out into a small pout—and _Force_ help him suppress the _sinful_ thoughts that arise within the relative privacy of his mind at the mere _sight_ of that pout—as she settles comfortably once more against the arm of the sofa.

They sit in silence for a while as Kylo attempts to rein in the plethora of thoughts that run rampant through his mind—eventually, he resorts to a meditational technique his uncle had taught him, once upon a time. It is a technique he has not truly utilized in _years_ , but he cannot deny it is still the only thing that truly allows him to settle his mind when it is at its busiest.

It is only after he has successfully cleared his mind that he realizes Rey is projecting intense fear and insecurity through their Bond, and it makes him feel distinctly uncomfortable—he strongly dislikes the feel and taste of her fear in his mind, and it takes him less than a minute to decide he will do whatever he can to ensure she will never feel those things again.

She is chewing on her lower lip when he turns to her, her cheeks still flushed, and staring straight ahead, obviously lost in thought.

“What’s on your mind, Rey?” He asks softly, gently brushing his mind past hers, finding himself quite unwilling to startle her. She does jump a little when their minds connect, and her eyes are wide and surprised as they meet his.

“Nothing,” she squeaks, though he knows she can tell he sees right through the lie.

He simply raises an eyebrow and peers at her intently. He needs not say anything, he knows—she will decide in her own time how to explain whatever issue it is that plagues her mind. He senses it is something that has been on her mind for quite some time, and he hopes he will be able to lay whatever it is to rest, so that she may focus fully on her studies and training.

“It’s just…” she begins, hesitating for a long moment before continuing, “I keep wondering about _passion_. It seems like something so inherently important to my training, but I’ve never actually—” She stops speaking abruptly, a deep red blush staining her cheeks as she looks down and away from him.

Kylo’s mind immediately provides him with some _very_ inappropriate—but exceedingly passionate—images of himself and Rey. He cannot help himself, lingering on a scene painfully similar to the one he had found himself in with Rey on Moraband—pinning her to the floor during a sparring match, but instead of letting her go, kissing her absolutely _senseless_.

He can almost _feel_ his hands exploring her soft skin, tugging on her clothes until she’s gloriously bare before him, teeth-marks across her neck and shoulders and chest marking her as _his_. He can nearly _smell_ the scent of their sweat-slicked skin as he buries himself deep inside of her; _feel_ her fingers tugging on his hair—

“Master?”

His head snaps up, and he feels simultaneously grateful that she cannot see into his mind and _horrified_ that he let his mind wander into such territory in the first place.

He has no room in his life for such desires, least of all for his Apprentice.

Obviously Rey had not intended to imply any sort of sexual relationship between them—she had likely spoken of anger and resentment and sadness; passion for the things she believes in.

“What do you wish to know?” He manages to say, quite pleased with how normal and unaffected his voice sounds. He discreetly adjusts his robes—he’s only human, and even he is not immune to the effects of sexual desire—and subtly shifts away from Rey, hoping she will not catch the movement.

“What if I never experience true passion?” She blurts out, leaning forward with wide, _beautiful_ —what in the name of the Force is _happening_ to him?—eyes, sincere curiosity and worry laced in her voice. “Will it limit me in my abilities? What if—what if your faith in me is misplaced?”

He can tell this is something that truly bothers her, and his first instinct is to reassure her that whatever she does, she will _never_ disappoint him—but he squashes that urge swiftly.

Such sentimentalities are below him.

“True passion is never beyond anyone’s reach,” he insists, leaning towards her despite his most earnest intentions _not_ to. “Passion takes on many forms, and not everyone experiences it in the same ways—the way another may have experienced true passion will not always be the way _you_ might experience true passion.”

He can tell he has struck a chord, and he hopes it’ll divert her attention from his own _very_ obvious distraction earlier.

She worries her teeth over her lower lip, eyes downcast, and he wonders what is going on in that head of hers when she blurts, “But what about sex? I mean…” She blushes a deep scarlet and looks away from him—which only plays to his advantage, since he is most certainly _not_ able to keep his expression calm and composed—before she continues. “Poe told me once… of being _so_ attracted to someone that you couldn’t keep your hands off of them—of being so _passionate_ about… I—”

She falls silent once again, and he barely suppresses a wince at the pained look on her face.

“What if I’m _broken_?” She whispers, her eyes hooded and suspiciously damp. “What if they broke me and I can’t—I can barely stand being touched some days… What if I become a liability? I don’t want to disappoint you, Master.” She looks up at him with such trust and devotion that it takes his breath away, and he is momentarily speechless.

“You won’t disappoint me,” he insists, leaning forward to take one of her hands in his. “I am… _uncomfortable_ with prolonged physical contact, as well… It requires a kind of intimacy I am no longer capable of. It does not, however, prove a liability. You are _strong_ , Rey.”

He had not realized how little space was left between them until he looked into her eyes once again. It is a heady feeling to breathe in the air Rey has just exhaled, and his mind feels clouded, and he honestly cannot remember a valid reason to _not_ lean in and kiss her—her lips are _so_ close, and it is almost as though she is _calling_ to him, and he is powerless to resist her call.

His fingers are still wrapped loosely around her wrist, and the touch does not repulse him as it usually does—his skin does not even crawl, and it is an exhilarating, unfamiliar feeling that he is loath to let go of.

“I could show you true passion,” he murmurs thoughtlessly, eyes fastened on her full, undoubtedly soft, pink lips.

She gasps quietly, but doesn’t resist when he pulls her into a hungry kiss, their lips sliding together erotically and _stang it_ , he cannot resist her. His hands and arms move of their own accord, an arm slipping around her waist, and suddenly she’s in his lap, his hand tangling in her hair to hold her in place as he kisses her absolutely senseless.

He growls against her lips when she tangles her fingers in his hair and tugs on it _hard_ , pressing her entire body into his and _kriff._ He honestly cannot recall a moment when he had _ever_ been this comfortable with physical contact—his sex life has, naturally, been sorely lacking because of his aversion to touch—but he can’t get enough of Rey.

Kissing her feels much like an electric shock, his skin burning deliciously where she touches him, and a burning throb ignites somewhere deep in his stomach. She’s kissing him back fiercely and hungrily, and a little voice in the back of his head muses that she seems _quite_ adept at passion, and he’s not entirely sure why she seems to think she isn’t.

She moans quietly against his lips, a deep, wanton sound that sends flames of hot lust straight down to his groin. It feels like a slow fire burning its way through his veins; as though Rey’s lit a fire somewhere deep inside of him that no one but her would be able to quench or satisfy.

Nothing else seems important anymore; nothing but his lips remaining on hers.

Slowly and very, _very_ reluctantly, he leans back—because he’s feeling a little lightheaded by the lack of air—groaning when Rey doesn’t stop her assault on all of his senses. She just moves her lips—her soft, _delicious_ lips—down his cheek, onto his neck and collarbone. “Rey,” he manages to moan softly, tugging on her hair lightly—because he doesn’t want her to stop, not truly; but he knows he has to. Because if she continues, he might _explode_.

She complies, but remains pressed against him, her hips pressing down on his and her breasts pressed up against his chest, her fingers tangled in his hair. His mind is blissfully silent for another long moment before reality rudely shoves its way to the forefront of his mind again, and he realizes the impossibility and the immorality of his actions.

She is his _student_.

She has been violated and taken advantage of more times than either of them can count already, and he does _not_ want to be another name on that list of men. The mere thought makes him _sick_ , and he shoves her off of his lap before he jumps to his feet, absolutely _horrified_ by his own lack of decorum.

“Master,” Rey mutters, raising herself up onto her elbows as she stares at him—and _Force_ , she looks sinful—with wide blown pupils and mussed hair, her tunic slipping off her shoulder to reveal creamy skin that he is _aching_ to touch—in the most _delicious_ way he has ever seen. “Kylo, I—”

“I must go,” he interrupts curtly, schooling his features into a mask of indifference, silently grateful for the way his robes obscure her view of his suddenly uncomfortably tight trousers. “I expect you to meditate on the things we spoke of earlier. The Supreme Leader wishes to meet you in the morning—see to it that you are prepared.”

With that, he turns on his heel, clicking his mask back into place as he storms out of the room and away from the temptation that Rey represents. He can hear her calling after him, but he is certain she won’t follow him in her dishevelled state, and ignores her—he _cannot_ deal with this.

He is near the bridge when he feels a familiar Force-signature enter Starkiller’s atmosphere, along with several dozens of others he does not immediately recognize. He grits his teeth in frustration and feels the anger that had been suppressed since the moment he had found Rey well back up again as he stalks towards _Colonel_ Hux.

The immense amount of residual _lust_ and _desire_ that still course through his veins serve well to add to his frustration and anger, and he pushes aside the infuriating human weaknesses that come along with his immense desire for his Apprentice and focuses his mind, readying himself to enter a battle meditation if necessary.

“I suggest you rally the troops and send out a fleet of TIE-fighters,” he orders calmly, clasping his hands behind his back as he joins the infuriating little slip of a man at the bridge. “The Resistance has begun its attack upon Starkiller Base.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, here's a list of the seven other Knights of Ren and their respective species :D
> 
> \- Lumiya Ren (Mirialan)  
> \- Jacen Ren (human)  
> \- Dota Ny Ren (Togruta)  
> \- Venamis Ren (human)  
> \- Bo-Ro-Tara Ren (Cerean)  
> \- Hoolidan Ren (Duros)  
> \- Aalad'zaja (Zaja) Ren (Twi'lek)


	10. Chapter X - Starkiller Base

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS THE END.   
> HOLD YOU BREATH AND COOOOOOUNT TO TEN :p 
> 
> Okay, sorry, couldn't resist. But yes, this is the final chapter for Psychedelic Inebriation. I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> I want to thank everyone who's read and commented and left kudos on this fic, and who's stuck with me throughout the entire thing (not that it's that long, lol), and who will likely read the upcoming sequel and the deleted scenes too :D You guys are amazing! 
> 
> I love all of you!
> 
> And the most love goes to my amazing beta Meaghan, who has dragged my through this story--who is the reason I wrote the entire thing in the first place--and who took over writing the especially difficult parts that I simply couldn't put into words. Meaghan, I love you, darling, thank you SO much! 
> 
> Love, Annaelle

# Chapter X  
Starkiller Base

## “Face your life, its pain, its pleasure, and leave no path untaken.”   
—Neil Gaiman

**POE**

Poe is not unaccustomed to the toe-curling, gut-churning kind of nerves that the moments before entering a battle bring about, nor is he unfamiliar with the prospect of losing loved ones. This time, it feels different though—more _profound,_ and uniquely nerve-wracking.

He’s never had more to _lose_ before.

He may only have known Finn for a few weeks, but he already knows that he will _never_ feel the way he does about Finn ever again, and he knows he’d likely not deal very well if he should lose Finn today. They had discussed it, in the past week; tentatively explored what maintaining a relationship would be like while living lives as dangerous and unpredictable as theirs.

Of course, the pending attack on Starkiller Base had weighed a lot on both their minds, and Poe had found it exceptionally difficult to enjoy the undiluted exaltation that came with a new relationship with that dangerous mission looming over their heads.

He cannot _bear_ to think of losing Finn in this assault, but he does know there’s a realistic chance.

Han Solo and Chewbacca had taken Finn onto the Millennium Falcon, with a very vague plan to take a lightspeed landing approach to get onto Starkiller—and _Force_ , he hopes Finn’s okay. He knows the stories about Han Solo’s legendary piloting skills and many daring escapes, and he _knows_ Finn is in good hands with the General… but despite all that knowledge, not being by Finn’s side doesn’t sit well with him.

He and Finn had not told anyone else that Finn would be using his time on Starkiller to look for Rey, too—Poe’s almost entirely sure that General Solo would have scrapped the entire mission had he caught so much as a whiff of that idea.

It is the feeling of _hope_ that Finn will be able to find Rey—alive and well—that kept Poe from refusing to take the mission. He had thought about it, in the three weeks following the Council’s decision not to rescue Rey. He’d thought about resigning from the Resistance, about leaving the eternal fight between good and evil—Light and Dark—behind, and taking Finn to Yavin 4.

In the end though, he simply wants Rey back; wants her to be okay and unhurt and _happy_ —he was worried for her before Kylo Ren abducted her, and he's been worried sick every single minute of the time she’s been gone. At this point, he cares little for the circumstances or his orders from the Resistance—he just wants to know that Rey is okay and safe.

He’s feeling more than a little disenchanted with the way the Resistance is treating _everyone_ , and he’s not sure it’s worth fighting for anymore.

“Black Leader, go to sub-lights. On your call.”

Poe exhales shakily as the command comes through, and briefly closes his eyes as he leans his head back against the headrest.

Finn did it—he disabled the shields and he’s _okay_.

Poe’s not stupid or naïve, and he knows they still have a long way to go before they’d all be safe—Poe still needs to bomb the oscillator and Finn still needs to find Rey in the vast maze that is Starkiller Base—but he feels a little more _hopeful_ already. 

He begrudgingly shakes all thoughts of Finn and Rey when the order comes in and focuses on getting onto that planet and blowing it up. Because, if nothing else, Poe has always been immensely proud of the way he is able to focus on his work.

“Roger, base,” he replies. “Red squad, blue squad, take my lead.” The distinct affirmative murmurs of the other pilots makes him feel a little better, though he still feels the weight of being responsible for their lives, as well, on his shoulders.  

The drop from hyperspace to regular speed is jarring and disorienting for a split-second, like it usually is, but Poe manages to shake the feeling rather quickly and immediately locks in on their target—the black hexagonal oscillator is unmistakable against the bright white of the snow, and he swallows thickly as he waits for the telling beep that’ll let him know he can start firing.

“Almost in range!” He exclaims. “Hit the target dead center, guys; as many runs as we can get!”

“Approaching target,” Snap adds, and Poe can hear the tension in his fellow pilot’s voice—he can’t blame the man, either; he’s well aware of the stakes of this mission.

He’d barely been able to follow the complicated explanation from one the engineers that had spent _hours_ studying the wireframe from Starkiller Base, but he _did_ gather that if there wasn’t enough residual energy left, the oscillator would blow, and they’d still have damaged Starkiller, but it wouldn’t implode—the First Order would be able to fix the damage, and that would not be constructive to what the Resistance is trying to achieve with this airstrike at all.

“Let’s light it up!” He exclaims, and his adrenaline spikes as he pushes the yoke down and spirals into a nose-dive. He waits until the very last moment to pull up, dropping three bombs in quick succession, hitting the oscillator dead center each time.

His heart pounds loudly in his ears, and he whoops in elation—because _kriff_ , he really does love flying like this—as the other pilots confirm that their bombs hit the oscillator too.

“There’s no damage,” Ello Atsy informs them worriedly, and Poe’s stomach drops—but he will not give up; two of the people that mean the most to him in the entire galaxy are on that kriffing Base, and he knows they’ll not be able to get out if he doesn’t manage to blow this stupid thing up.

“We’ve got to keep hitting it,” he insists. “None of us thought this would be easy, guys! Let’s do it! Another bombing run!” BB-8 demands his attention with a long, furious beep, and dread pools in Poe’s stomach as he spots the _dozens_ of TIE-fighters on their tail, all of them, undoubtedly, armed to the teeth and shooting to kill.

“Guys,” he gulps, chewing on his lower lip, “We got a lot of company!”

.

.

.

**REY**

Rey’s heart is pounding in her chest as she hurries through the halls, wincing every time she hears a bomb explode—the ground doesn’t quite quake with the force of the explosions, but the blasts and the subsequent panic that seems to thrum in the air put her on edge in a way she can barely bear.

Her earlier _encounter_ with Kylo had left her flushed and confused, and she had been about to go out to find him—after ensuring she was dressed in a way befitting of Kylo Ren’s Apprentice, rather than a common harlot with her clothing ruffled and askew and messy hair that was falling out of its braid—when she’d heard the explosions.

The hallways are eerily deserted as she hurries through them, and if she weren’t so focused on finding Kylo, she might be more worried about the fact that she has seen no Stormtroopers as of yet.

She’s tried to reach out to him through the Force—tried to feel for that distinctive red hum that always resides in the back of her mind—but she can only sense that he’s actively shutting her out, so she can still _feel_ him, but cannot _find_ him.

Her fingers are curled tightly around her blaster pistol, and though she’s not entirely certain she could actually _kill_ one of the Resistance fighters she’d known back on D’Qar, she’s sure she can muster enough anger towards them to at least incapacitate them.

She mentally tells herself to remain vigilant and to pay attention when she hears a noise. She swoops around and points her blaster at—

“Finn?”

She can barely believe her eyes and lowers her blaster immediately, staring at him wide-eyed. “What are you doing here?” She exclaims, a little taken aback by the dazzling smile that spreads across his full lips when he realizes who she is.

“Rey!” He exclaims happily, lowering his own blaster and drawing her into a tight hug before she has the chance to protest or raise her pistol again. “I knew it! I knew he wouldn’t have killed you! Poe’s going to be so happy to see you!”

And she would have said something, would have pushed him away—but then he mentions Poe, and she is too stunned to respond. “You found Poe?” she questions shakily, momentarily completely struck out of left field. “Is he okay? Did he—the crash—I know he’s alive, but—”

Finn reels back at that, confusion clearly written all over his features. “How? _I_ didn’t know until—” He shakes himself before he can finish the sentence and grabs her hand in his, and she doesn’t even have time to flinch away before he starts dragging her down the hall. “That can wait until later; we’ve got to get out of here _now_.”

“Wait, no,” she exclaims, struggling against Finn’s surprisingly strong hold on her wrist. “Finn, let me _go_.” She manages to yank her wrist from his grasp and takes a step back, clenching her fingers around her blaster pistol as Finn turns to stare at her in confusion.

“Rey,” he mutters, and she can _see_ the moment he realizes she is not, in fact, a prisoner. She doesn’t know if it’s the fact that she’s wearing the same kind of robes the other Knights wear, or the blaster pistol, or the fact that she isn’t at all afraid to get caught wandering in the halls—which she’s sure he’s noticed—but she can see the moment he realizes she has shifted her allegiance.

“I’m not going with you,” she whispers, blinking away the burning tears that well up in her eyes at the thought of never getting to see Poe or Finn again. “I can’t go back there, Finn. _I can’t_.” Her voice is unsteady and she’s on the verge of bursting into tears, because the look in Finn’s eyes is confusion mixed with disgust, and she cannot _bear_ the thought of the same emotion filling Poe’s eyes.

“Do you have any idea of how _afraid_ he was?” Finn spits, taking a step forward, crowding her towards the wall with his muscular form—and she can barely _breathe_ , barely _think_ —as he pokes his finger into her shoulder angrily. “Of how many nights he spent wide awake feeling _guilty_ because he couldn’t come to save you right away? It’s been _killing_ him, Rey!”

“I did this for _him_!” She cries, shoving Finn back as hard as she can without actually hurting him. “I did this so he could be safe—away from all of this!” She can feel tears slipping down her cheeks and she hates the _weakness_ her attachment to Poe causes her, but she can’t _stop_. “I made him _untouchable_ —they _can’t_ hurt him anymore, Finn.”

Finn looks stricken by her words and stumbles back until his back is pressed up against the opposite wall. He stares at her, and though she doesn’t quite know what to make of his now softer expression, she remains vigilant and raises the blaster a little so the tip is pointing in Finn’s direction.

Neither of them speaks, and Rey uses the moment of silence to regroup and regain control over herself. Kylo had taught her better than to let her emotions get the upper hand—she is stronger than her base impulses.

“You can still come with me…” Finn says quietly, his gaze steady and intense as he eyes her from his spot against the opposite wall. “Poe will take you anywhere you want to go—Rey, you don’t have to stay with these people. I know what they’re like—the First Order isn’t your only option anymore—please come with me.”

She looks at him for a long time, and she _knows_ she could take him up on his offer. While she may realize that what she felt for Poe isn’t love, she cares for him a great deal, and she knows the feeling is entirely mutual.

She also knows Finn is right.

She could escape Starkiller Base with him, and Poe _would_ take her wherever she wanted to go—but she is already right where she wants to be.  “I don’t _want_ to go, Finn,” she whispers, shaking her head lightly. “They—they’re _good_ to me, Finn. _He_ is good to me.”

Finn stares at her, long and hard, and she bites her lip, fidgeting under his scrutiny.

“I suppose that’s all that matters,” Finn replies hesitantly, and she can see the doubt and disbelief in his eyes. “Just… Be careful, okay? And get out of here—this place is going to blow. Just… Get out. I’ll tell Poe—I’ll tell him you’re safe.”

With those words, Finn nods shakily and pushes off the wall, heading back in the direction he came.

“Finn?”

She isn’t sure what she’s going to say—but she knows this might be the only chance she’ll ever get to find some kind of closure for that part of her life. “Tell Poe… Tell him thank you for everything and that…”

There are tears burning in her eyes again as she remembers snippets of the time she’d spent with Poe over the past year—of all the times he’d held her and provided her with a safe haven—and swallows thickly. “…Tell him that spending time with him was the only reason I stayed for as long as I did. He’s the only reason I survived.”

Finn’s eyes look suspiciously watery too, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he simply nods curtly before turning and disappearing around the corner.

The second he disappears, she slumps back against the durasteel wall, exhaling shakily. Seeing Finn and _knowing_ that Poe is out there in his X-wing had taken a lot more out of her than she had expected when she first ran into Finn—especially combined with everything that had happened earlier that day.

She honestly doesn’t know how to process _everything_ that life had thrown at her in the span of seven hours, from _the_ most passionate kiss she’d ever experienced—one of her only kisses, to be honest—to a Resistance attack, and learning that Poe had never given up on trying to save her.

Her head feels _too full_ , and she _can’t_ —

She doesn’t know what to do.

She leans her head back against the wall and closes her eyes in exasperation. She _does_ know what to do—she knows her place in the galaxy, which was the very reason she turned down Finn’s offer to come with him and Poe. Now if only she could find that kriffing laser brain so she can actually _take_ her place by his side.

She doesn’t hear the tell-tale synchronised stomp of Stormtrooper feet until they are already standing before her, with Captain Phasma leading them. The Captain’s otherwise pristinely polished chrome armour is stained with grease stains and what looks like mud—at least she hopes that’s mud—and Rey wonders what in the name of the Force happened to her.

“Lady Rey,” Captain Phasma greets her with a polite nod.

“Captain,” Rey acknowledges, pushing herself off the wall and straightening her back. Kylo had advised her to never show any kind of weakness in front of any of the Stormtroopers or commanding officers, and it is advice she intends to follow—she has never been particularly comfortable around Captain Phasma in the first place, and after Kylo’s warning, she is even less so.

“Do you know where Master Ren is?” She asks nonetheless, because she _really_ doesn’t know where Kylo is, and this base is so large that simply wandering around until she finds him is not an option.

Phasma tilts her head to the side slightly, almost like a cat studying her prey, before she nods. “Of course. He has taken a squadron of Stormtroopers to the Oscillator to secure it from within. He sensed it was the Resistance’s true target—soon they’ll realize its shields are strong enough to withstand their bombs from the outside, and attempt to cause damage from the inside.”

The words make Rey feel a little nauseous, and Finn’s earlier warning echoes through her mind.

‘ _Get out of here. This place is going to blow. Just… Get out.’_

She thanks Phasma, infinitely grateful for the way Kylo had taught her to school her features into a cool mask of indifference, and hurries towards the oscillator, praying to whatever deity there is—if there are any—that she will be able to get to Kylo before something bad happens.

She has taken only a couple of steps when she’s nearly knocked off her feet by a strong wave of emotion from Kylo’s end of the Bond, and it’s stronger than _anything_ she’s ever felt from him before.

He’s angry and frustrated and _confused_ , and that scares her.

She has never seen her Master as anything less than perfectly in control, and what he is sending to her now—subconsciously, she’s certain—feels completely _out_ of control.

It takes her another long three minutes to run the last few hundred meters to the entrance of the oscillator, and another wave of nausea hits her when she expands her mind through the Force and senses three more distinct Force signatures—and she may not have actually sensed their signatures before, but she recognizes Finn, Han, and Chewbacca immediately.

“Oh, _Sithspit_ ,” she curses, running out onto a catwalk and taking in the sight of her Master facing his father for the first time in more than a decade. She can scarcely imagine how he must be feeling, even with a direct line tapped into his mind. There’s _so much_ going on in that head of his, she can't really distinguish a single emotion or thought.

Her heart is still pounding, adrenaline pumping through her veins, and she can feel the ghost of Kylo’s emotional turmoil through their linked minds.

She’s unsure of how she’s supposed to _help_ him, though.

She watches, stunned, as Kylo takes off his mask when Han bids him to do so—she’s fairly certain Kylo hasn’t removed his mask around anyone but her in _years_ —and bites her lip as she waits to see how the scene before her would play out.

“Snoke is just using you for your power,” Han pleads, stepping forward towards Kylo, and she doesn’t have to see his face to _feel_ the conflicted _agony_ in his mind and heart. “When he gets what he wants from you, he’ll crush you—you know it’s true.”

Rey is, after everything she has seen in the First Order, not particularly inclined to agree, but she can sense a kind of awareness within the agony coming from Kylo that makes her pause. She moves forward a few steps—unintentionally and completely unaware that she is actually moving—her hand reaching out towards her Master, to touch him, to _comfort_ him.

And then Han spots her, standing a few steps behind his son—and Force, it’s one thing to _know_ , but another to actually _see_ the familial likeness between the two—and completely blows his lid.

“What is _she_ doing here?” Han spits, haphazardly pointing the tip of his blaster towards her.

Kylo doesn’t look around, but Rey knows that he knows she is there. She closes the remaining distance between them, pausing a step behind him, fingers still clenched around the grip of her pistol—she would step up to his side, but the catwalk is too narrow. Rey isn’t sure why Han is looking at her as though she is Darth Bane incarnated, but she has a feeling that much has changed in the month she has been away from the Resistance—and not all of the changes seem to have been good for the great General Solo.

“I saved her from your Resistance,” Kylo responds coldly, drawing his lightsaber from his belt. “She is now my Apprentice.” Rey can hear the condescension and smug pride in his voice when he adds, “I’m certain it will be _devastating_ for mother to realize she had the means to resurrect the Jedi Order in her grasp for an entire year—before you drove her into the First Order’s welcoming arms as well.”

“She’s _nothing_ more than a little _slut_ ,” Han spits, and though Rey never truly cared about Han, there had once been a time, before she left Jakku, that she _idolized_ him, and the words cut her deeper than she’d like to admit—if she is a _slut_ , it is only because _he_ made her one.

The choice between being a slut and being starved to death really hadn’t been a difficult one, but it still raises her hackles to have it thrown back in her face as though it had been _nothing_.  

Kylo stiffens, and Rey jumps a little when he ignites his crackling red saber. “ _Don’t_ talk about her like that.” Whereas his feelings had been a jumbled mess earlier, she can only sense pure and undiluted _rage_ from his mind now, and it _terrifies_ her.

She has felt many things from him already—more than he realizes, she's sure—but never rage quite like this, and it scares her.

“Why?” Han sneers, an ugly, angry expression twisting his features. “Afraid to hear the truth, _son_? I bet she didn’t even last a day here before spreading her legs for the first high ranking officer that approached her.”

Rey gasps in response, struck by the venom that falls from Han’s lips—even in the worst of circumstances, she had never once seen him raise his voice or yell at _anyone_. She’s never seen him like this before, and she can tell it’s throwing Kylo off, too. Han’s shouting now, spouting profanities and _lies_ that she knows aren’t true—that don’t even make sense—and he looks positively _unhinged_.

“ _Shut up!”_ Kylo bellows suddenly, and Rey gasps with the sudden onslaught of emotion that he projects through the Bond, and even Han looks rattled for a split-second.

Unfortunately, the man bounces back quickly enough, and he sneers, “That’s it, isn’t it, _son_? The little whore is spreading her legs for you—she’s got you wrapped around her little finger.” Han’s face is contorted into an ugly mask of anger and disgust, and his skin is red and splotchy, and for a moment, he reminds her of Hux—the memory makes her nauseated and makes her knees feel weak, and she curls her fingers into the back of Kylo’s robes to remain on her feet.

Kylo growls menacingly, drawing his saber and igniting it—the crackle ominous and _terrifying_ even though she knows he’s not going to turn on her—but Han continues, seemingly oblivious to Kylo’s rapidly worsening temper. “You’re not the first, son—you’re not going to be the last. She did it to Dameron. She fucked him until he couldn’t think straight anymore, and now he’s nothing more than a nuisance—don’t be as foolish as him, _son_.”

“I’m no fool,” Kylo hisses, and Rey can hear the leather of his gloves creaking as he tightens his grip on his lightsaber. “Your son _was_ , so I killed him.” She senses his intention less than a second before he moves to do it, and she barely catches his arm before he attempts to shove his lightsaber through his father’s chest.

She’s felt Darkness in his mind already, and she knows he is still a good man—but she senses that letting him kill his father will send him into a spiral _so_ dark and _so_ deep, he’ll never be able to recover from it. And while she doesn’t think she’ll ever truly be able to love another person—not after everything she had been through in her life—she _does_ know that she cares about Kylo far more deeply and passionately than she’s ever cared about anyone, and she refuses to let him destroy himself by killing his father.

She tightens her grip on his arm, ignoring his furious attempts to break free—she’s _not_ letting go.

“You’ve chosen your side, then,” Han says in a grave tone that sounds wholly unlike him. “So be it.”

And before she realizes what’s happening, Han has raised his blaster and fired a shot at her—a shot that never hits its intended target.

It happens so fast, Rey barely has time to process what is going on before Kylo staggers back into her arms, and a burning phantom pain sears through her chest. “Kylo!” She cries, sinking to her knees with him—and she doesn’t _care_ that Han is still standing there, the tip of his blaster smoking, his eyes wide and _horrified_ in a way that doesn’t fit with the man that just tried to kill her—pressing her hand to his chest desperately, as though she could heal the wound with no more than sheer will power.

His end of the Bond is fading rapidly, and she doesn’t know what to _do_ to keep him from slipping away. “What did you _do_?” She screeches, glaring up at Han, who is still standing dumbstruck before her, his expression somewhere between shock and downright panic.

Kylo jerks in her arms, a bubble of blood forming in the corner of his lips, and she gasps in pain, clutching at her own chest as the ghost of his pain tears through her mind again, returning her full attention to him. “No, no, no,” she breathes shakily, pushing his hair from his face with trembling hands. “You’re going to be okay—I’ll get you out if here.”

And suddenly there’s someone else’s hands on Kylo’s body, pushing hers aside, and her vision tints _red_. “No!” She cries, shoving roughly at Han’s hands. “No, get away from him!”

“No, wait, I can help,” Han pleads desperately, his blaster forgotten on the bridge behind him. “I can use the Falcon—I’ll help you get him out of here, we can take him back to—” And if she were to look closer; if she would just _care_ enough to look, she would have noticed the difference in his expression—the same desperation that is rapidly taking over her entire consciousness.

But she _doesn’t_ care.

She doesn’t look.

All she cares about is getting Kylo out of here and to someone who will be able to _help_ him.

“ _Don’t touch him_ ,” she spits, shoving Han away again, tears burning in her eyes because _he shot him_ —he may as well have _murdered_ him, and she will not let him anywhere near Kylo ever again. “If you ever touch him again, I will _kill_ you.”

It’s like a switch is flipped in him, because suddenly Han cackles—an eerie, unfamiliar sound that is unlike anything she's ever heard before—as he gets to his feet. “That's rich, you little whore— _you're_ the reason he's hurt at all! This is all _your_ fault! He's going to _die_ because of you!” 

Rey feels like her blood is _boiling_ , and with every word that falls from Han’s lips, she feels more enraged and out of control because _she doesn't have time for this_. Kylo’s blood pulses hotly against her fingers with his every heartbeat, and she can feel him slipping further and further into territory she can't follow and that _frightens_ her.

“Shut up,” she whispers, because Han just won't stop talking and she needs to _think_. “ _Shut up!”_

“This is your fault,” Han continues, eyes wide and crazed as he inches forward, his fingers clenched around his apparently new-found blaster. “You made him do this, you little cunt—you did to him what you did to Dameron and I’m going to make you _pay_!” She can feel the _fury_ and _anger_ and _disgust_ rolling off of him in waves, and it’s _suffocating_ to be stuck between Han’s rage and Kylo’s _nothing_ —she can barely breathe or think, and all she knows is that he needs to _stop_.

Rey looks down at Kylo’s increasingly pale form and finds her own emotions mirroring Han’s projected emotional turmoil. She cannot wrap her mind around the possibility of losing Kylo so soon after finding him—after he found her. Her mind fills with white-hot fury and rage, welling up from a place deep down inside of her that she never even knew existed before now—one that burns with rage and coils with despair at the mere _thought_ of losing Kylo.

And the only reason she even stands a chance of losing him is because of this man.

 _General_ Solo.

Han.

Kylo’s _father_.

How _dare_ he harm his own son like this? What kind of monster is he?

His earlier panic—his desperation and his apologies—were likely nothing more than an underhanded trick to get close enough to murder his wayward son. Close enough to erase Ben Solo from the galaxy once and for all, so that there will be no evidence left of the son that dared defy him.

His current vitriol was more like the monster Rey had always seen, lurking beneath the façade of Han Solo; more like the true him he’d shown himself to be to her over and over again.

And then her mind is filled with nothing but rage and despair—anger at the unfair treatment she had received at his hands—filling her with a kind of dark power she had only accessed once before. Her entire body hums when she embraces the rush of power and she _revels_ in it, _fuels_ it with memories of the _pain_ and _humiliation_ Han Solo has put her through, with _fear_ of what he’s attempting to _take_ from her.

Han takes another, threatening, step towards where Rey is hovering over Kylo’s prone body, and her control vanishes. She will _not_ allow him another chance to take away the person she has come to cherish most—she will _not_ allow him another step closer.

Instinctively, she draws upon that endless well of power and raises her hand, screaming as she unleashes the strongest wave of power she can towards Han, doing the _only_ thing she can to ensure Kylo’s permanent safety from the man—to give him a fighting chance of survival—and shoves Han off the walkway with the Force.

She barely hears his screams as he falls to his death, her attention drawn back to Kylo, whose breathing halted momentarily when Han fell. For a charged, tense moment or two, she can reassure herself, feel his pulse throbbing in his wrist and sense his Force signature, albeit weak and wavering.

After that moment—that _long, tense_ heartbeat—everyone leaps into action, despite the shock of seeing Solo’s measly existence being snuffed out.

She moves on complete instinct, shielding herself and Kylo from Chewbacca’s precisely aimed bowcaster blasts with a Force trick she hadn’t even known she could use until now, and refuses to allow herself the time to process what she just did—she needs to get Kylo out of here and to a medic.

That’s her only priority, and as she feels the ground shake beneath her feet, an ear-splittingly loud explosion temporarily deafening her as she hurries towards the hangar as fast as she can while dragging a man twice her size, she _knows_ that Finn and Poe succeeded in their mission, and all she wishes for is that they will make it out, too.

The winds are icy cold as she finally makes it to the hangar, Kylo’s body heavy against hers, and she shivers at the sight of the now-abandoned airstrip.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Rey chokes, using the Force to drag Kylo forward another few steps, into their battered old C-wing—one of the only spacecrafts left in the hangar—while she desperately attempts not to panic at the peculiar and _dreadful_ feeling of his unique Force signature becoming weaker and weaker, despite the fact that he is _right here_ beside her.

The wound on his chest—that he got because of her, _kriff_ him, taking a kriffing blaster bolt that was meant for _her_ —is still bleeding profusely, and the complete absence of his presence in their Bond feels like a gaping, crippling wound in her mind.

“Don’t die,” she mutters under her breath, manoeuvring him onto the small cot in the back of the shuttle. “Please don’t die—I’m going to get us out of here and you’re going to _live_ , stang it.” Her hands are shaking and she feels like she can barely breathe—and _Force_ , she doesn’t want to leave him for even a second—as she presses his bundled up cloak against the wound.

“Don’t die, you stupid laser brain,” she orders him, even though she _knows_ he probably can’t hear her, before she pulls her hands off of him and rushes to the pilot’s seat, ignoring the fact that her hands are stained with Kylo’s blood and that her eyes are watering with unshed, fearful tears.

She forces the C-wing to its limits as she pilots it off the surface of the collapsing planet, jumping into hyperspace as soon as she can—she sets the course to the Unknown Regions, which is far enough to require a seven-hour flight in hyperspace, because _honestly,_ she doesn’t _care_ about a course or finding the others right now—and setting the autopilot before she sprints back to the cot she’d left Kylo on.

He is deathly pale by the time she reaches him, and she can barely sense him in the Force anymore. Their Bond is _aching_ because of his absence, and she can’t stop tears from rolling down her cheeks as she drops to her knees next to his prone body. “No, no, no,” she cries, dragging the blood-soaked cloak away from the wound on his chest. “No, you can’t do this to me.” She presses her hands to his chest, reaching out towards the Force instinctively.

She knows, abstractly, that he will become one with the Force if he dies, and that he will have peace that he could never truly find in life—but she’s not ready to let him go yet.

“You can’t have him,” she sobs, “I _need_ him—you _can’t_ have him.” Her hands glow hot with blue light, and she feels sick and tired and _powerful_ —fuck the Force; she is _not_ letting go of him. “Come on,” she whispers, leaning forward to press her lips to his forehead. “Don’t die on me. _Please_ don’t die on me.”

And as suddenly as the surge of power had rushed through her veins, it’s gone, and she collapses forward onto his chest. It takes her a long moment to realize that she can _feel_ him. Not just _breathing_ beneath her hands, but in her mind—his Force signature is stronger and _brighter_ and it’s surrounding her.

“Kylo?” Her voice is shaking and soft, and she _knows_ he would dislike the concern she is showing, but she can’t help it. “Kylo, please wake up.” He is completely still for another split-second—and then he gasps, his entire body arching up as his eyes snap open and his lips part into a perfectly round ‘o’.

Rey gasps, grasping at his shirt and torso fruitlessly, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

“Ow,” he chokes, falling back onto the cot heavily while she grasps the front of his tunic in her fists. “That _hurt_.” He lies on his back for a long moment, breathing in and out steadily—and she wants to hug him and slap him and then kiss the _hell_ out of him—before turning to look at her. “What did you do?” There is a tinge of worry in his voice, and she can sense _worry_ and a touch of _panic_ in his mind.

“I don’t know,” she replies shakily, releasing her hold on his tunic only to realize that her hands are still trembling terribly and she thinks she might throw up if she moves too much. “I just—you were dying—I couldn’t—I had to—”

And then she’s crying again, and she _wants_ to stop—she _really_ does—but she _can’t_.

She thought she was going to _lose_ him.

He is _everything_ to her—he’s taken her in and taken care of her and punished those that sought to exploit and hurt her—and she can’t bear the thought of having to create an entire new life without him in it. Kylo had shown her power and strength and he’s made her strong enough to stand up for herself.

She’s crying too hard to see, but she can feel his concern—not to mention his bewilderment—as he leans forward and pats her shoulder awkwardly. “Rey, don’t cry—I’m okay—we’ll be—”

And then she lunges forward—and she doesn’t _care_ about his weird thing with touch—and wraps her arms around his neck as she crawls onto his lap. “I’m sorry,” she sobs, “I can’t stop—I just—I thought I was too late…”

It takes him nearly thirty seconds to respond, and then his arms are around her and she can _breathe_ again.

“It’s okay,” he whispers “I’m here, Rey. I’m here.”

.

.

.

It’s not until a few hours later, when she and Kylo are both seated in the cockpit, in the pilot and co-pilot’s seat respectively, that Rey realizes she _may_ have overreacted a little bit. “What do we do now?” She asks him, chewing on her lower lip uncertainly. “Is there a… back-up? Somewhere we need to converge, to regroup?”

“Of course,” Kylo replies, rubbing his hand through his hair. “I don’t think you and I should go back there, though.” There is a sense of tension in his voice, and she can feel his energy buzzing in the back of her mind, though he is clearly shielding himself from her in their _much_ stronger connection.

“Oh,” she replies with a frown. “Is there a different meeting spot for the Knights, then?”

“There is,” he nods, leaning back in his seat. “That’s not where you and I are going either.” His silence is frustrating and annoying and she wants to _slap_ him—but she is _too_ relieved that he’s alive to actually damage him now.

“Where _are_ we going then?” She asks, attempting not to show just how exasperated she is with him.

He sighs—a weary, heavy sound that resonates through the small cockpit—and shrugs. “I don’t know—but we are _not_ going back. We need to go somewhere Snoke cannot find us, or sense us.”

She stares at him in shock, her jaw hanging open. “What?” She breathes, eyes wide and unsure. “Kylo, what are y—why wouldn’t we—”

“They set you up,” he spits, disgust and anger rolling off of him in waves. “With Hux. Snoke planned it.”

She feels like the shuttle has been ripped away from beneath her, and she is having some trouble comprehending what he’s trying to tell her because… It can’t be true, can it?

“No,” she murmurs. “No, that can’t be right.” 

Kylo looks away and bites his full lower lip. “I wish it weren’t true, Rey. I saw it in Hux’s mind—when he was fleeing Starkiller… Snoke’s control over him broke for a short moment, but it was long enough. I saw all that he had been hiding. He orchestrated Hux’s _assault_ on you to ensure you would feel as though you were valued and appreciated here as you aren’t anywhere else.”

“I can’t—” Rey chokes, staring ahead that the stars that surround them. “I thought—”

“Yes,” Kylo mutters bitterly, “as did I.”

They sit in silence for a long moment as Rey attempts to grasp the weight of what Kylo just revealed to her. Everything she had come to believe, everything she had learned to appreciate about the First Order and its fair treatment of all genders and species feels like a lie, and she no longer knows what to believe. Her thoughts are too fast and fleeting to make sense of, and she doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry over the fact that Kylo is willing to leave behind the organisation he had dedicated his life to for _her_.

“Moraband,” she says after a while, her voice raw and cracked. “We can hide on Moraband. If you couldn’t sense me in the lower levels of the Academy _with_ our Bond while you were on the same planet—”

“—Snoke won’t be able to sense either of us,” he finishes, nodding along. “It is a good idea. No one will think to search for us there either—and if the Force be with us, they will assume we perished on Starkiller Base.”

It is strange to think that people might think her dead—but it also doesn’t matter so much.

“Moraband it is,” she sighs, leaning forward to punch in the coordinates. “And what is your plan in the long run, Master? I assume we can’t hide on Moraband forever.”

“No,” he replies with a sigh. “No, we can’t. We have to become stronger. _Better_. We have to get rid of Snoke eventually, before he finds another child like you or I and rips them from their family as well.”

She swallows thickly, unsure of how to respond to Kylo’s implication of Snoke’s manipulations. “So what do we do?” She demands, setting the shuttle to autopilot before turning her seat to face him. She wants to look at him, _see_ that he means this, that he’ll stand by her side as they prepare to face the storm together.

“We train,” he says seriously, his expression determined and stoic. “We train in the Dark Side until we know all that we can—” She makes a face, but he ignores her and continues, “—and then we find a teacher to show us how to use the Light Side of the Force.”

“What?” Rey exclaims, eyes wide and shocked—because this doesn’t make _sense_ , what in the name of the Force is he trying to pull? “We can’t use both sides,” she shakes her head, “Can we?” She doesn’t let him answer, because her mind is providing her with _so_ many questions and she just—too much has happened in the past twenty-four hours. “Besides,” she adds, “Where would we find a Jedi willing to teach us?”

The moment she says the words out loud, she realizes what Kylo has in mind, and she wants to tell him no, because there is no way that it is going to work out the way he hopes—it’s an asinine idea that will only serve to put them both right back into danger—but she finds herself strangely tongue-tied.

“It will work,” Kylo leans forward, reaching for both her hands with his. “We will become strong and powerful on Moraband. I will teach you all that I know. And then I will take you to Luke Skywalker, so that he may teach you all that he knows. And we will be ready.”

* * *

 

**To Be Continued in ‘Absolute Magnetism’**


	11. AUTHOR'S NOTE

The first chapter of the sequel is up, guys! :D

 

[Absolute Magnetism Chapter One](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7226728/chapters/16403197#main)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from! Like seriously, I was writing something else, and then suddenly this came out :D Anyway, leave me a quick note, tell me what you thought of my little dive into the trash heap--will likely be updated once a week or something. 
> 
> Not too sure yet. 
> 
> Thanks to Meaghan (Juulna on A03) for beta'ing, listening to me rambling and being absolutely stupid about this little piece of crap :D 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I love you guys! :D
> 
> Love, Annaelle


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